Thingy
by Lord Cellytron
Summary: An abandoned "epic" I began in 2004. My attempt to write the quintessential Chaxie Charles/Klinger fic. When Charles attempts to get away from Hawkeye and BJ for a night, everything seems to go wrong. EVERYTHING. Quite crazy. Please read my AN.


**It's quite the unwritten no-no, I realize, to upload WIPs to . An even bigger no-no, most likely (though I've certainly done it enough times) is to upload a WIP that you have long since abandoned and most likely will not finish. I shouldn't even be uploading this, and I wouldn't, had I not come to realize recently that with all the hard drive failures, blogging mishaps and lost disks I've endured over the years, not only is it nothing short of a miracle that this fic still exists in any capacity, but I have a duty to make sure it doesn't come to be completely lost.**

**Therefore, I'm uploading it here. I still have a soft spot for the doggone thing.  
**

**It is titled, simply, "Thingy", a working title it never outgrew. During the summer of 2004, I set out to write the best Chaxie (a cutesy namesmush for Charles/Klinger fics that I coined in June of 2004 and that a few people have since used) fic EVAR, or, at least, that I could write. It turned into this 30,000-some word monstrosity you see before you; an "epic" filled to the brim with crazy shenanigans, overblown angst and the occasional good line. **

**There is no outright slash; at least not yet (There was going to be, trust me), but there's plenty of suggestiveness and fluff. **

**My writing has improved immensely in the last four years, so I'd prefer no concrit. Not only would you be concritting myself from four years ago (and I've since learned from these mistakes and don't make most of them anymore, and I'm aware of the grammar and punctuation issues, believe me), but since I don't intend to finish the fic, your helpfulness would basically fall on deaf ears. I don't write for the fandom anymore, don'tcha know. :P**

**And, yes, it does "end" somewhat abruptly. I apologize. **

* * *

July 15, 1950

"I'll wait for ya, Maxie. Ya know I will," she said quietly, flicking the ashes from her cigarette off of the porch steps onto the dirt path that led from the ramshackle garage.

In the dim light of the smoggy Toledo dusk, He thought she'd never looked more beautiful. Her dark, messy brown hair was tied back from her face with a dish towel that she used as a bandana, and when she leaned over the steps, a few strands here and there fell forward. She'd been working on a pile of dishes that represented almost a week and a half of dining at home without washing the plates afterwards, but now the absolute last thing on either of their minds was the cleanliness of their small abode.

"I know you will, baby. And it won't be long, either. Just you watch. The second the army gets a load of me in some of those frocks, they'll trip over their own boots getting to those discharge papers. I'll be there a month, two months tops."

She nodded, but she didn't look convinced. She was wearing a worn green dress with a floral print that came to just above her knees. The hem stitches were ripped in areas and she smoothed it down over her thighs, shaking her head.

"I'm scared, Maxie. Why'd they take ya, anyway? You're no good with that kinda stuff. What'd they want ya for?" she asked quietly, scratching a mosquito bite on her calf.

"That's what I said. I told em everything. Like the time at camp, remember that?" he replied, annoyed.

"Yeah. You wrote me 10 times asking for my dresses."

"And I never got 'em, so I improvised. For a first-timer, that really wasn't a bad grass skirt."

She didn't reply, just continued scratching her leg. When she'd finished that, she looked at her cigarette, which was almost half burned away. Shaking, she brought it back up to her lips and took a drag.

"Baby... LaVerne... listen. I ship out in 5 days."

"I know."

"That's not... it isn't enough time."

She took a deep breath and looked at him.

"Not enough time for what?"

"To get into your dresses." he said matter-of-factly.

She nearly choked on her cigarette.

"To get into my WHAT?" she exclaimed.

"Your... your dresses. I mean, you're a 6, right?"

"Hey... Maxie, baby. Whaddya mean anyway? My DRESSES, for god's sake?"

"Look, don't worry about it. I'm no 6. But I gotta have SOMETHING packed away. I got my Grandfather's wedding dress, but I can't very well wear that every day. I'm gonna need some casual wear."

She still looked baffled, but managed to compose herself for a brief moment, then found herself laughing bitterly.

"You're nuts, baby. You're just nuts."

He grinned.

"See, that's the kind of thinking that's gonna get me back here in no time. I tell ya, you won't even know I was gone."

Her smile faded, and she looked at the ground.

"Of course I'm gonna know you were gone. What if somethin' HAPPENS to ya? What if I'm a widow, y'know? Just like that."

"You aren't gonna be a widow!" he cried.

"How do ya know? Somethin' could happen to ya! Oh, Maxie, you can't go. You can't! I'll never be able to quit worrying! I'll start chain-smoking and you'll come back to a prune. Or you might not come back at all. You might find some little Chinese girl and--"

"LaVerne! Come on, don't talk like that! You know me! That's not gonna change..."

"EvERYTHING's gonna change! We just had a crummy war. My brother came back from that war and it was all different."

"They aren't even calling this a war. It's not a war." he said hopelessly, desperately.

"It's a damn war. He came back and then he kept getting long-distance telephone calls from some French broad. It'll be just the same with you! They'll send you to China or... or wherever... and you'll get lonesome. You'll get lonesome and you'll forget all about me! And the next thing you know--"

"LaVerne!"

She stood up, the wind wildly flapping at her skirt.

"The next thing you know, it'll be just the same as my brother. Some... some bitch a million miles away who wants money to come to the U.S. because some G.I. got lonesome one night and... oh, I'd rather you got killed!" She blurted out.

His face crumbled with shocked despair, and tears that tried to protest the words that he'd heard seeped from his eyes before he could stop them.

"L-LaVerne..." he whispered, eyes wide. "You... you mean that?"

She suddenly realized what she'd said, and in her stunned state she found herself not gentle, not remorseful, but even more angry. She dropped her cigarette and turned away, then began running.

He heard the front door on the other side of the house open, then slam. He continued listening as she ran up the stairs one at a time, then slammed the door to their bedroom.

Maxwell Q. Klinger didn't know it at the time, and he wouldn't realize it for quite some time to come, but it would nonetheless one day prove to be true...

The fact that out of his entire marriage to LaVerne Esposito, the girl he loved his entire life, the girl he left behind and who ultimately left him behind, the girl he was never quite able to get out of his head... In the end, it wasn't her smile that he remembered, nor was it her mannerisms, or a single word that she said that stuck with him in the years to come.

It was that slamming door.

* * *

September 24, 1952

"Listen, Major. I'd like to help you out, but there's nothing I can do! My hands are tied."

"Nonsense! Surely... there is something you can do. You've got a lot of... pull around here, do you not?"

Max sighed deeply, shaking his head. He turned in his chair and then leaned as far back as he dared, narrowing his eyes. A few short feet to the left of him stood a very vexed Major Charles Emerson Winchester III, leaning on the desk in a condescending show of fellowship which would last only until he either got his way or had his request shot down rather unceremoniously.

Charles now had a rather innocent smile on his face, a smile that Max found to be worth a thousand pleas of "be a buddyroo" or "You can bend the rules just a little bit... for ME.". It reminded him of the way girls got when they wanted something that otherwise would be impossible to give. They always managed to get SO cute and SO charming.

Of course, Major Winchester wasn't exactly making the grade on either the "SO cute" or the "SO charming" scale, but it was rather obvious that he thought he was.

Max picked up a pencil, stuck it in his mouth and began chewing on it.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have any pull." he said calmly.

Charles looked worried, but let out a triumphant "Oh-HO!" and leaned in closer.

"Max, of COURSE you do. Colonel Potter listens to you! You're his... advisor!"

"You don't say?"

"I most certainly do."

"That's kinda funny that you should say that, Major. Considering just yesterday, you called me an incompetent clod and told me to go get trampled by a camel, just because I did a little thing like using your opera records for go-cart wheels and a couple of them broke..."

Charles grimaced and looked away, trying to compose himself.

"I mean, when you talk to me like that, I almost get the impression that... that... you don't like me." Max finished.

Charles rolled his eyes.

"I DON'T like you."

"Oh. I guess that solves that mystery."

"I loathe you. I despise you. You are a veritable amoeba among men. Now you HAVE to help me." Charles said desperately, sitting down on the desk and grabbing Max's hand.

"Whoa, hold on a second. Give me a minute to take all this in. Call the press, put this on the front page! The great Chuck Winchester needs help from a lowly amoeba like me?" Max exclaimed, pulling his hand away and smiling with annoyed amusement.

"Yes, yes, Max, gloat, but please... do it QUIETLY!"

"Hey, can ya blame me? Oh... do you want my hand back? Wanna put your head in my lap?"

Charles scowled and stood up, pacing and muttering to himself as Max snickered. "Okay, okay. You want a 3-day pass. What is it, a crisis? Your stocks crashed? The Winchester Estate's burned to the ground?"

"It is a crisis for nothing but my own personal sanity!" Charles exclaimed.

"Hey, Major, that's not my department."

Charles sighed reluctantly, then returned to his seat on the desk.

"Simply put; and I expect this to be held in the strictest of confidence, it's Pierce and Hunnicutt."

"Oh yeah?"

"As of late, they have taken to partaking in thoroughly crude activities."

"So what else is new? Major, that hasn't been a new complaint for 2 years."

"Yesterday, do you know what they did?"

"Well, we tried to build go-carts, but then some rude Major came along and took our wheels away."

"That isn't the HALF of it. After I politely requested that they find something more productive to do, they decided to get hopping drunk. They came back at 2:30 in the morning and decided to play Spin the Bottle with my cologne. I was awakened THRICE by acid-breathed imbeciles who claimed that the bottle pointed at me and thus I owed them a kiss. I shudder to think of what they did when the bottle pointed to Sophie the horse."

Max found himself grinning widely.

"You had to KISS them? What happened??"

"That is none of your concern! The point I am trying to impress upon you is that I need to get AWAY from them, as soon as is humanly possible. And for that, I need your cooperation!"

"Aww, come on, Major! There haven't been any casualties in almost a week now. We're all bored."

"Are we? Are we all so... 'bored' that we resort to pretending our roommates are walking dolls? I seem to have neglected to mention how the day BEFORE yesterday, I woke up wearing a Korean schoolgirl's outfit."

"You're sure that's not what you went to bed in?"

"QUITE." Charles snapped.

"Aww, Major, that's nothing. I used to wake up in dresses every day. Although I will say, I remember I didn't have much luck finding a schoolgirl uniform big enough to fit me. They must have found an awfully big schoolgirl. You mind letting me have a look at that dress? Ten bucks says it's not authentic."

"KLINGER, please."

"How'd it fit in the hips?"

"KLINGER!"

"Not too good, just what I thought. All right, listen. If you want to talk to Colonel Potter, go ahead. Don't let me stop you."

"Klinger, I already DID. And he refused. That's why I came to you."

"He already said no?"

"Yes. But I assumed... with your... influence..."

"He's still gonna say no."

"Well, what am I supposed to DO? I cannot room another NIGHT with those... those... debauchers. God only knows what perverse game they'd come up with tonight."

"Have they tried pinning a tail on you yet? I always thought that'd be a funny trick to try with Major Burns."

The color drained from Charles' face, and he shook his head, looking like a lost soul.

"No." he said weakly. "I cannot... WILL NOT endure another night with them."

"Why don't you find somewhere else to go, then? I mean, you're such a nice guy, I'm sure the camp is lousy with people who'd love to take you in."

"Ask for... and accept CHARITY?! Surely you jest!"

"Why? You came begging on your hands and knees to ME."

"And a lot of good it did me. No, no. There must be another option."

He got up then, and began pacing. Max threw up his hands with exasperation and turned back to the pile of paperwork he'd been neglecting.

"Okay, fine. You mind leaving me alone? I got all kinds of stuff I need to do."

Charles didn't respond, and Max shrugged.

A minute or so went by, and suddenly Max heard a rather familiar sound coming from behind him:

His own bed, mattress creaking under someone's weight.

He frowned and turned around. Charles had made himself quite comfortable, leaning against the wall with his head cradled in his hands.

"Ohhhhh no." Max said angrily, getting up off the chair and storming over to his bed. "Now, listen here, Major. If I'd have wanted you to sit down on the bed, I'd have mentioned it."

"My head... is throbbing. Every time I blink, I hear their voices. Their inane chatter... it haunts my every waking moment."

"That's great. That's just peachy. But listen, I got WORK to do, and I'd sure appreciate it if I had somewhere to collapse after I'm done with it. You get my meaning?"

"Don't... ugh... don't worry yourself about it. I only need a moment... to compose myself." "A moment, huh?" Max repeated, not at all happy.

"I'd never... oww. I'd never... abuse your hospitality."

"There's none to abuse."

"Just a moment. This bed... actually feels good."

"Right." "Just a moment... to compose myself."

Max returned to his desk, bitterly annoyed. As he busied himself with typing up requisitions and every so often sneaking a look at one of Hawkeye's old nudie mags cleverly hidden inside a slipcover that read "The Armed Forces and What They Can Do For You", he was only slightly aware of the fact that it had been more than a moment, and there was some pretty steady breathing coming from the other side of the office.

When he'd finally finished the final page and resisted the urge to go ask Hawkeye and BJ why they put in a request for 7,000 pink rubber gloves, he took a deep and satisfying breath and turned around with a smile.

A smile which quickly faded as he realized that Charles had never left, and, in fact, was now sound asleep on HIS bed.

"That jerk. That complete jerk. I can't believe it." he said aloud, but not loud enough. "He comes in here, insults me, expects me to work some kind of miracle to get him to Seoul, and then he takes MY bed. I got a good mind to..."

He trailed off, standing up and stretching. The entire time, he kept his eyes on Charles, as if somehow that would wake him up.

"All right, Major Moocher. This time you've just gone too far. You see this? See it? It's a paper sack. Just a simple paper sack. Looks rather innocent, doesn't it? Oh, little do you know, my pompous friend. Little do you know."

He then proceeded to blow into the paper sack, holding it almost shut, until it was inflated into a crude paper balloon.

"Boy, Colonel. That was some noise. I don't know what it was, sir. It must have been shelling. Y'know, from the war and stuff. And beats me how Major Winchester got on the roof. You really ought to have let him go to Seoul. I think he's finally gone off the deep end." Max said to himself, grinning fiendishly.

Paper bag in hand, he tiptoed across the room so he was standing right at the side of the bed. He held the bag closed tightly with his fist, and slowly lifted his other hand, fingers stiffly outstretched, ready to smack the balloon.

Charles had made himself very comfortable; he was curled up on top of the blanket, one hand under the pillow, the other draped over the side of the mattress. And for just a split second, Max almost felt bad about what he was about to do.

Not really, though.

A quick breath, and he drew back his hand. "Klinger?" A voice asked from the other side of the room.

He whirled around and dropped the bag.  
"I wasn't doing anything, honest!" Max exclaimed.

Colonel Potter frowned at him, then laid a sheet of paper down on the desk.

"Okay." Potter said casually, keeping his eyes low. "I-Corps wanted this sent out within 2 days. It's dated a month ago. I'm sure no one will notice for another year or so, though. Still, probably wouldn't be a bad idea to get started on it."

"Yes, sir, I'll get right on it."

"Good lad."

Max glanced behind him.

"Saw him, son." Potter said.

"Boy, he's got a lot of nerve." Max snarled.

"I heard his sob story once already. I personally encouraged old Chuckles to find someplace Pierce and Hunnicutt-free to shack up for the night. First time I think he's ever taken my advice."

"That's great, sir. Really."

"So... uh... where are you planning on sleeping?"

"Right there." Max said, pointing at the bed, not getting Potter's meaning.

Potter frowned.

"Well, I'm sure you'll let me know how that works out. I'm gonna turn in."

"Good night, sir."

Potter nodded and slipped out the door, leaving Max alone with Charles and his irritability. He turned back around, looked at the bag on the floor and shook his head.

"Allright, Major. You win this round, but don't get too comfy." He said in a warning tone, then returned to his desk.

Charles sighed in his sleep.

* * *

October 23, 1950

"Ouch!" Max hissed as he drew back his hand. "I guess there's a reason they call 'em hot rollers."

He picked up a pair of cooking tongs and used them to flip over the small metal rods that he had sitting on top of the grill. As irritating and demeaning as he often found kitchen duty to be, he had to admit this time that he was strangely grateful to have the entire kitchen to himself. It wasn't that he was embarrassed to be seen putting rollers in his hair, but chances were, he knew, that if someone should see him doing so around food, they'd probably throw some demerits his way.

"All right." he then said to himself, waving his hands in the air to clear the scent of scorched metal. "That's done. Boy, I wish I had more hair."

He picked up the curlers with the tongs and put them in a bowl, then turned off the gas and the lights and casually carried the bowl out the door. He then took off for the tent that he shared with 3 other enlisted men, quietly impressed with how well he was learning to run in heels.

Back at his tent about 20 minutes later, he sat on his bed, whistling and looking at himself in a small pink hand mirror.

"Not bad." he said happily as he surveyed the job he'd done of putting the rollers in. He'd only been able to roll his hair once around each roller, but stuffing them down inside his clear plastic cap, he figured no one would be the wiser.

Now that he'd finished the hard part, he relaxed. It didn't matter now that he wasn't going to be able to find the mate to his purple ballet slippers, because the next day he'd have a hairstyle that would give Bette Davis a run for her money. It didn't even matter now that he'd been given kitchen duty for the next week because Major Burns had noticed that his hair was grown 3/8 of an inch beyond regulation length. Once Colonel Blake got a load of him the next day, kitchen duty, the 4077 and the whole army would be a thing of the past.

As he took a good look at a bottle of nail polish, wondering where the instructions were, there came a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Max exclaimed cheerfully. Whoever the visitor was, they'd see him in his flowered robe, pink fluffy slippers and rollers without him having to do anything crazy like run to the latrine singing 'God Save the Queen', which was always a bonus.

The door opened and Radar, the 4077th's youthful company clerk, tentatively entered.

"Radar! Heya, kid! How are ya?" Max asked, finding himself genuinely happy to see him, not as someone who'd stare a little too long at his clothes and hair, mutter something about 'crazies' and run out the door, but as a genuine friend and a real nice guy. There were so few people who fit that description in the army that it was always a pleasure to run into one.

"Oh, uh, hi, Klinger. I'm okay." Radar said, shyly but pleasantly. "How are you?"

"Eh. You wanna sit down or somethin? Boy, I just put these rollers in, and already my head's killin' me."

"You look real nice. Kinda like my mom." Radar said.

Max smiled. The kid always knew just what to say.

"Oh, uh... listen. I... uh... well, Colonel Blake asked me to bring this to you."

"Oh??" Max said expectantly. "Hand it over! What is it??"

"Well, it's nothin' good."

"Oh." Max frowned. "What is it?"

"Well, it's about the guys you've been bunking with. They've all been complaining."

"What do they got to complain about? Aww... this isn't about the pantyhose again, is it? I thought we reached an understanding."

"I dunno, Klinger, but they all want you to move out. It's umanim-- uanimo-- they all agreed on it."

"They do?! How far out? Out of the tent? Out of the 4077th? Out of Korea??"

"The tent." Radar confirmed.

"That's a start. What for?"

"Well, Klinger, you been through 8 different tentmates already! They all come out smelling like perfume. You used Corporal James to model that pleated skirt."

"We were the same size. You can't exactly sew pleats on YOURSELF."

"Well, I guess he didn't like it much."

"Yeah, everyone's a critic. So, listen. If I'm gettin' thrown out, where am I gonna go?"

"I dunno. No one likes living with you much. Maybe if you didn't... I dunno..." Radar sighed. He was obviously trying to come up with some helpful advice, something that Max could do to be a better bunkmate, but he knew that it wasn't really a good bunkmate that Max wanted to be, at least not in this country. It was rather evident that every crazy thing he did was on purpose, that he LIKED driving people out because it made him look bad for the army, and nothing was going to change that.

"Aww, who needed those guys, anyway. They were always making smart remarks about my socks." Max was saying dismissively.

"Your socks?" Radar asked quizzically.

"Yeah. Y'know, the way one of them's a little longer than the other."

"Hmm. Boy."

"Hey, they can have their lousy tent! It's still gonna smell like perfume for a week or so after I'm gone, at least. And boy, those guys don't even appreciate the fact that that perfume ain't just a bunch of roses stuck in water. That stuff cost me two-fifty back in Toledo. Can you imagine? Two lousy bucks!"

"And fifty lousy cents."

"'Evening in London', it's called. It's supposed to smell just like the rain in London."

"Smells like a bunch of flowers, to me." Radar said, shrugging.

"I dunno. Maybe there's a bunch of flowers there. I didn't ask the saleslady or anything. Didn't want her to think I was too curious for my own good. I told her it was for my wife and all."

"Oh yeah? Did your wife ever smell it?"

Max hesitated for a moment. The truth was, he'd bought it the day before he left for Korea, and he and LaVerne hadn't even spoken to each other for 4 days before that. He'd thought about putting a dab on right before he left, but since she'd be with on the way to the station, and she was already angry with him, the last thing in the world he needed was to smell like some other girl's perfume.

"Nah." he finally said, smiling. "She smelled good enough that she never needed stuff like that."

"Oh yeah?" Radar asked, fascinated.

"Yeah. She'd used to take these bubble baths, and--" he stopped. "Hey, I shouldn't be telling you this."

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm just a kid. I don't know nothin."

"Yeah, but... it's my wife we're talkin' about."

"Oh. Gee. Sorry, Klinger. I guess you miss her a lot."

Max frowned. The truth was, yes, of course he missed her a lot. He missed her more than he'd ever imagined he could ever miss anybody in his entire life, and then some. It made him angry how much he missed her, almost ashamed, in fact.

She finally wrote him a letter almost a week prior to that night. 3 months, and she finally wrote him. One page, front only. No 'sorry it took so long to write', no excuses of any kind.

He'd been nervous as hell when she didn't write, terrified that she'd been in some kind of accident or something, so when he finally got the letter, he tore it open the way a man dying of thirst would dive headfirst into the ocean; so occupied with the temporary relief he got from the water filling his mouth, washing down his throat, that he didn't even notice that he was drowning in it.

* * *

_Dear Maxie,_

_I got to thinking about you today. Just out of nowhere. I was sitting at the table, listening to the radio, when that song came on. I can't remember the name of it, but it's the one with the man, and he's singing about the stars and you. I heard it come on and I all of a sudden wanted to give you a buzz. Ring you up at work and tell you to come on home, forget about everything and we'll dance. But then the song ended, and the announcer man came on and gave the news._

_He didn't say anything, not one thing about where you are. So I thought maybe I dreamed it all up. Maybe if I buzzed you up at work, your boss would yell something real bad down the receiver and you'd come home at night and holler at me because your boss got mad that I called you up at work._

_I'm so lonesome. Didn't think I would be, but I sure am. I saw someone at the store today and thought it was you. I might be losing my mind and it's all your fault._

* * *

It had ended, right there. Just like that. No signature, no "love", no anything, which at first had made Max even more panicked.

What if she got in an accident while she was writing the letter? What if the house burned down while she was in the middle of writing it?

But then, he realized that it had been sealed by her, and the address was hand-written.

Then, he thought, what she'd died of something sudden and horrible, and with her very last breath, she licked the envelope and the stamp... then quickly passed on to the other world, her last living words clutched in her stiff hand? Her last thoughts had been of him...

He suddenly snapped back to the present when he realized that Radar was still sitting on the bed across from his, looking thoughtfully at him.

"Hey, Klinger, I was thinkin'." he said suddenly.

"Yeah?" Max said, eager to get his mind off the letter. In truth, he hadn't even begun to think of a reply yet, and not even just because of his worries that she was dead. He'd been fairly certain that the letter meant that she wasn't angry anymore, but he felt awful about the fact that she was so miserable at home, and he knew that if he sent her a letter full of complaints, even if they were petty, she'd just feel worse.

But then again, if he lied and said army life was swell, she'd know it was a lie and think he WAS having an affair. So he had to come up with a happy medium, something that got the point across that the army was hard, but not so terrible that he couldn't stand it, but still pretty bad... but never mind, he'd be home in another week.

"Well..." Radar said quietly. "I bet... and I mean, I don't know for sure, but I bet, that I know the reason why those guys didn't want to room with you"  
"Of course. It's my coquettish good looks."

"Well... um... what if it's because, y'know, they never see the real you? Y'know... all they ever see is the Max Klinger who's crazy and dresses up like a girl because he wants to get out of the army. But, y'know, that's not all there is. Maybe... um... if you let them see what you're really like, y'know, they'd see that you're a real nice guy and everything, and then they'd like you a whole bunch more."

Max looked at him carefully, not quite sure what to say.

"Well... um... what I mean is..." Radar said shyly, "When I first got here, y'know... I tried to act like someone else, too. I wanted to be one of the guys and stuff. But then, y'know, when I quit acting like that, I noticed that all of a sudden, I was one of the guys. But it was me, and not... um... the other way I acted, that everyone liked. And I was thinkin', too... no one really knows too much about you. And, y'know, I think that people should. Cause when everyone else gets a letter, they talk about it with their buddies. But you don't."

"I don't get too much mail." Max said honestly. And it was true. "I told my whole family not to bother to write, because I'd be home so soon."

"Oh." Radar looked disappointed.

"Aww, kid... listen. You're right, y'know? You are. I never really think about that kind of thing, though. I just want to get out of here so bad... it wouldn't be fair to the guys to get to be friends, and next thing you know I'm in a straitjacket on a plane headed for the States."

"Huh. I guess not."

"And... anyway... I mean, this is a war. Anything can happen."

He didn't really need to say anything more, and he didn't. He didn't need to say that there was always the danger of becoming good friends with someone, only to hear a few days or weeks later that they'd been killed, because they both knew that.

Radar cleared his throat as he realized how uncomfortable the situation had become, and Max looked downward and sighed.

"Um... well, Colonel Blake said first thing in the morning to report to him and he'll give you... uh... y'know, instructions." Radar said, breaking the silence.

"Oh, okay."

"But, uh... y'know, don't worry."

"Nah, I won't worry."

"I better go. Um... I got some stuff to do."

"Yeah. Me too."

Radar looked curious. "Yeah. What do you got to do?"

"Oh, I was gonna do my nails... and then... write a letter to my pop. And then one to my wife."

"I bet she'll be glad to hear from you." Radar said, smiling.

"Yeah."

"Well... uh... so long."

"See ya, kid."

* * *

September 25, 1952

12:03 a.m.

He started out quietly, politely.

A soft, almost inaudible "Maaaaajor...", just enough to interrupt the man's dreams a bit, maybe make whomever Charles was talking to in that stilted dreaming voice sound a little bit more like Max Klinger and a little bit less like some haughty heiress.

Then, a bit louder, Max spoke with an enormous fake smile.

"Maaaaaaaaajor... you're still in my bed. I don't know how they do it where you come from, but I'm thinking of putting on my boots and landing my foot where the sun don't shine."

Charles replied with an "Mmmph".

"I wonder how many guys it'd take to move this bed into the enlisted mens' latrine." Max mused out loud.

Oddly enough, it was that off-hand comment that managed to rouse Charles from his slumber.

"Don't even think about it, Pierce." he snarled into Max's pillow.

"Egad! It lives!" Max exclaimed.

Charles opened his eyes sluggishly.

"Major, you had us all worried. I was scared I was gonna have to pretend my mattress suddenly took on a mind of its own. I didn't know how I'd shut it up, except maybe taking it outside and beating it."

"What in the world are you blathering about?" Charles asked absently.

"Oh, y'know, same old same old. Don't let it concern you. You can just be on your way now."

"On... er-hem... MY way?"

"Yeah. You know, whatever your way may be. As long as it's out the door."

Charles was preparing to turn around and give Max a piece of his mind, but something suddenly occurred to him.

"This is not my tent." he said, as if this were a stunning revelation.

"Ahhhh, so you noticed, too. Really, Major, if it wouldn't be too much trouble--"

It was clearly no trouble at all. Charles leapt out of the bed as if it were some sort of insult to his sense of self, and Max gave a delighted sigh and immediately crawled in, not giving Charles even a second to reconsider.

"Don't you have some work you ought to be doing?" Charles asked.

"Jeez, Major! What'd you do to my bed?!" Max exclaimed, sitting upright. "It feels terrible! It's full of lumps!"

"Surely, nothing that I did to it would cause such a defect. Why is it so dark outside?"

"Because it's midnight, you big... bed-wrecker! I'm not gonna be able to sleep on this!"

Charles' eyes widened.

"Midnight?! When I came in here, it was--"

"About six o'clock. Boy, give you four hours and you can ruin anything!"

Charles neglected to wince at Max's incorrect calculations, and instead took a moment to peer out the window.

"Midnight. Pierce and Hunnicutt will still be at Rosie's." he cried.

"Well, whoop-dee-do for you." Max said coldly, then began to leave.

"Where are you going?" Charles asked.

"To the supply room, to get about 100 blankets to pile on top of the bed so maybe I'll be able to sleep on it."

"Oh, come off it."

"Funny, Major. That's what I said to you when you got here. 'Come off it', I said. Off my BED. And now look at it!"

Charles rolled his eyes, then walked over to the bed, hands on hips. He took one look at it and scoffed.

"That was the state it was in when I got here. You can't hold me responsible."

"Like fun I can't! I shoulda known better than to let an officer in my bed. It ain't made for guys like you, Major. I've slept on that same mattress for two years. TWO years. I brought it with me when I took over Radar's job. From day one, that's been MY mattress. And then, whammo, just like that, some big old officer comes along and ruins the whole thing. It's gonna take me a month to find another one, and then when I do..."

"Max, please. If I have to listen to another moment of this insufferable yammering--"

"Hey, how'd you like it if I busted something of yours?!" Max blurted out, before he could remember the records from the day before. "Oh"  
"There. You see? We've both been appropriately compensated now, haven't we?" Charles said reasonably, as if he'd planned it this way from the start.

"Well... yeah, but... you don't SLEEP on a bunch of records."

"And you can't very well expect a MATTRESS to keep Pierce and Hunnicutt away during the daylight hours."

"Damn." Max hissed, knowing he was beaten. He shrugged, still angry, and then made for the door.

"Although..." Charles said suddenly, and Max froze. In all the time he'd known Charles, he could not recall a single time when he'd ever heard the major say the word 'although'. It frightened him, and he turned around with an expression that was half-dread, half stoic curiosity.

Charles saw his gaze, then shrugged casually. Too casually.

"You have, I'm sure, heard the expression, 'two wrongs do not make a right'."

"Yeah..." Max said slowly.

"Well, I believe there's some merit that can be assigned to that saying. Don't you agree? After all; true, we did both lose something of value to us, but I believe that neither of us pre-meditated the crimes. There was no malice behind our collective actions. Am I correct?"

"Um... malice? No. No malice." Max said, and he was pretty sure 'malice' was a bad thing.

"Thus, we are both at fault, and thusly indebted to the other for the sentimental and/or monetary value of our respective possessions." Charles said, sounding like a legal text.

"I'm not sure whether to like where you're going with this or not."

"Well, Max, you know as well as I that a debt must be repaid."

"With a ticker-tape parade, presumably?" Max said wryly, grinning despite himself.

Charles caught his reference immediately, and found himself rather amused as well, although a bit sheepish. They both took a second and recalled the time that Max had broken his nose after he pushed Charles out of the way of a generator that was about to explode. It had been so long, truthfully, since either of them had thought of the event, that Max was surprised to find himself laughing about it.

"I think you still owe me for that one." he said, rubbing his nose self-consciously.

Charles let out a humorless "Ha!".

"OWE you? Absolutely not. That debt has been MORE than repaid, after what you put me through."

"What'd I put you through?" Max asked. "Compared to my agony and heroism, you're gonna say a little paperwork is good enough?!"

"A LITTLE paperwork, followed by two straight days of never leaving your side, of being forced to listen to your anecdotes about your home in... Toledo... and being constantly humiliated while taking care of all your personal needs!"

"Yeah? What about me?! Look at me. Look at me from the side. Notice anything?"

"Max, I am not going to answer that question."

"No! Really. Look! Look at how crooked it still is. I go back to Toledo, and everyone's gonna think I'm some kind of street tough. I can tell them I broke it in the war, but what's the point when you can get the same injury in any saloon in Ohio?"

"Well, Max... what else would you have landed on when you fell?" Charles said innocently. He kept his face straight for about a second, then put his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

"Oh, sure. Make cheap cracks at my expense."

"I know, I know. That took so little effort I'm ashamed of myself for succumbing to it."

"You been living with Hawkeye and BJ for too long. Move in with me, I'LL teach you all about REAL humor." Max boasted.

"No thank you, Max. I've already heard why the Pope and Marilyn Monroe took the stairs."

"Hey, that wasn't one of mine. How about this one. Okay, there's this guy. He lives on a subway. One day, this girl comes on the subway, and she looks at him and says, 'hey, you're in my seat.' Oh, I forgot to mention. He's sitting on a seat. Anyway, she says, 'hey, you're in my--"

Charles suddenly stood bolt upright and waved Max silent. His eyes widened and he turned his right ear toward the sky.

"What is it?! Choppers?!" Max exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that he wasn't talking to Radar O'Reilly.

"No. Worse. It's... them." Charles said, cringing as he said the word 'them'.

"Who's 'them'?"

Charles didn't need to answer, because suddenly the sound of Hawkeye's high-pitched laugh filled both their ears. He was not far away, but it sounded like he was coming closer.

"They're coming. They're coming for me!" Charles said in a frantic whisper. He looked around him, then dove back into Max's bed.

"HEY!" Max screamed, clutching his head. "What the hell!? You've already done enough damage!"

"Be quiet! I cannot let them see me until they've... gotten all the 'boredom' out of their system. I'm doing this for their good as well as mine!" He then snatched the blankets and pulled them over his head.

"Yeah? What about me?!" Max snapped.

A moment later, he nearly went through the ceiling as the door to his office flew open and Hawkeye and BJ entered in a blaze of drunken glory.

"So she says, 'hey, buddy. That's my seat." And he says, 'Well, sit down in my lap.'. She says, 'What, are you crazy? Someone'll think we're married'. So he says, 'We'll have to be after you sit down on my lap!'" Hawkeye exclaimed, laughing hysterically.

"That's the worst joke I've ever heard." BJ said.

"No, no. You don't get it." Hawkeye insisted.

"I get it. Hey, Klinger. We need to use your phone."

Max looked at them.

"Yeah. Yeah, hey, listen. You remember that general who was in here a week or so ago, demanding that we give him corrective surgery to cover up that hickey, because he was going home in two days and his wife would see it?" Hawkeye asked.

"Ohh, yeah! General... uh..." Max fumbled with his memory.

"Bester. 'Don't pester me' Bester. Yeah. And we didn't, and he threatened to put us all on report because we didn't show respect to the flag."

"A man of few words, all of them colorful." BJ added.

"Yeah. Regular red, white and blue tongue. So, we're gonna call him up at home in the states, saying we have an urgent message from Korea. Listen to this. Ahem. 'General Antone R. Bester, United States Army. It is my privelege to inform you that you have been awarded the black-and-blue heart for your fortitude in the line of duty. You have shown great courage under sedation and sedation alike, and when other men would have stop, stop, stopped, Antone, we're both married, you would not stand down. Or up. When other men would pull out, you stood firm. From the highest mountain to the lowest valley, the Army salutes you for your act of depravery.' We were gonna say something about foxholes, but that just seemed redundant."

"Wow! And then, you start laughing and hang up, right?" Max said eagerly, duly impressed.

"Thank god someone remembered that part." Hawkeye said, snapping his fingers.

"And just for the record, this was not my idea." BJ sighed.

"Right, just the good parts." Hawk chided. "So, uh..."

Max motioned to the phone.

"Take it. I was just gonna turn in." he said casually, having forgotten about Charles. Turning toward his bed, he was faced with an unpleasant reminder in the form of one big lump under the blanket. He let out a shocked cry, then clapped a hand over his mouth.

"What's the matter?" Hawkeye asked, turning around.

"Um..." Max said, frantically trying to decide whether to blow Charles' cover or not. It was a pretty difficult decision, honestly. Hawkeye and BJ were much better friends of his than Charles was or ever would be, and if he could get in on a practical joke, he wouldn't really have much to complain about...

But then, of course, there was the question of why Charles was in his bed, and no matter what the reason, it looked damn incriminating. So he finally decided to keep his mouth shut, insisting in his head that it was for his own good.

"Hey, Klinger. Your bed looks kinda... lumpy." BJ said.

"Yeah. I noticed that lately, too." Max said, wincing.

"I wonder if my bed looks like that when I'm not in it." Hawkeye said, peering over BJ's shoulder.

"Only if someone else is." BJ replied.

"Yeah, but your feet stick out from the blanket. Klinger, is there..."

"It's a girl." Max found himself blurting out. He instantly regretted it.

Hawkeye and BJ stared at him, both shocked at his lack of evasiveness. "A girl? You mean... you mean, like... a FEMALE girl?" Hawkeye asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. A girl. We met at Rosie's and hit it off right away. We gotta be quiet, though. She's really shy." Max said, mentally kicking himself.

"A... not a nurse. A Korean girl?" BJ sputtered.

"What's the matter with that? We might even get married! We love each other very much." Max cried, building on his story.

"Klinger, come on. Who's really under there?" Hawkeye asked.

"I'm telling you the truth! Her name is Mei Ping."

"Are you kidding me? Max, I never knew..." BJ trailed off.

"Klinger, are you SURE...?" Hawkeye said suspiciously, near believing, but not quite.

"No, it's Major Winchester." Max found the opportunity to say then, sarcastically.

Hawkeye sobered.

"My god, it really is a girl. Uh... listen, this can wait. Uh... don't you think, Beej? Until tomorrow?"

"Oh, definitely. Hey, we got better things to do." BJ concurred.

"Yeah, like... uh... putting those pink sheets on Charles' bed. Listen, if you see him, you didn't see us, okay?"

"Please. Like Major Winchester would come in HERE?" Max laughed indulgently.

Hawkeye and BJ said their goodbyes quietly, and threw a couple 'Nice to meet you, Mei Ping's in Charles' direction, then they discreetly slipped out the door.

Max stood still for a second, still in shock. Slowly, he allowed himself to breathe, and then he exhaled all at once with a mixture of annoyance and relief.

He walked over to his bed then, and gave it a good kick.

"Oh, Mei Ping... those nasty brutes are gone. Now it's just you and me." he said flirtatiously.

Charles threw down the blankets with a scowl.

"Boy, Major... do you owe me now." Max said deviously.

* * *

March 28, 1951

"Whooo-hoo! Hey, cutie!"

"He's a guy, Mitchell. But get a load of them legs! Yeee-wow!"

Max held his head high as he strolled through the camp. His red wallpaper-print dress stiffly flapped between his knees as a result of too much starch, and as usual his feet hurt like the devil in his pointed-toed spectators and ankle socks.

Across from where he stood, a group of 3 young boys, probably 18 or 19 and obviously brand new recruits, stared at him in wonder. He managed to keep his eyes off of them and would have lowered them demurely, had his false eyelashes not been irritating his eyes to the point of watering.

"He's a guy?!" One of the boys cried incredulously.

"They don't let the women around here dress like that!"

"I knew it was too good to be true. Betcha half the guys here's a queer." The first boy said, a little too loudly.

Max acted as if he didn't hear, just kept on walking. He didn't exactly have anyplace to be, but he was halfway thinking about jumping up and down in the middle of the camp and declaring that the mess tent was on fire, then running away in hysterics when someone told him that it wasn't.

He wasn't sure, though. It seemed that lately, ever since Colonel Blake had gone to that big fishing hole in the sky and Trapper John had been sent home, it was harder than ever to get people to even notice him, much less declare him insane. Colonel Potter always seemed to be 3 steps ahead of him, and just pretending to be delusional would most likely not get the job done anymore.

He'd thought about starting fights, but it seemed that the guys didn't have much to fight about. Sure, he'd been in his fair share, but it seemed that if he just walked up to a guy and asked if he wanted to brawl, the guy would tell him to take off the dress first because otherwise he'd feel like he was beating up his mom. And, of course there was always the danger of ending up in the stockade.

The first boy was still talking, and it soon became evident that the volume of his voice was raising.

"See, I been in a unit already. It was about 8 of us. And we were REAL men. Killed us probably 50 reds apiece. They threw me out 'cause the faggot C.O. heard tell that I raped some Korean chick. Didn't need me any squint whore, back in the states they line up at the door for me."

Max turned around for a second, pretending to pull up his sock. He got a look at the group of boys. The vocal one was the shortest, with a red buzzcut and a fowl expression. One of his buddies, a lanky guy with messy brown hair, seemed amazed at what he was saying.

"You been in a unit already? And they already threw ya out?" He repeated.

"I told ya, it was that major. His name was Major Farmer, but me and the guys had a little nickname for him. He used ta go to his tent at night and put on some lady's underwear and stuff. I couldn't do nothin' because he was the C.O., but lemme tell ya that if there'd been any enlisted faggot queers around, me and the guys would have cleaned their clocks. Guys like that don't belong in the same army as real men."

"Boy, that's for sure. Get a load of that guy. He's carryin' a purse!"

Max sighed and self-consciously looked down at the purse in question. He'd made it himself, of course; hand-stitched and everything, made from his blanket, with olive drab fringe from a ripped pair of pants. It just figured, new recruits came in, and they didn't even appreciate true artistry.

"Swear ta god, back in my old unit, you'd have never got away with that crap." The red-haired boy practically shouted.

Max was in front of The Swamp, and just as he was passing by, the door opened and Hawkeye and BJ came out.

"I swear, you'd think there was a war or something going on out here with all the yelling." Hawkeye hissed.

"You wanna go back inside and listen to Frank some more?" BJ replied.

"It seems to me like six of one, half a dozen of the other. Hey, Klinger? Who are those guys?"

Max turned back around, and gave them a pained look.

"New recruits, Docs. Fresh greens. Boy, what a bunch of loudmouths." Max explained.

"New recruits? Aren't there enough guys over here already?" BJ asked.

"I oughta talk to the colonel. Maybe five of them for one of me is a fair trade." Max cried, brightening. "Whaddya think?"

The three of them took a look at the group of rowdies. Two of them, including the tall brown-haired kid, hung back shyly. But the redhead and two of his closest allies were laughing uproariously. A pair of nurses strolled past, and the three in the front whistled and postured.

"Look at the bazonkers on that blonde!! Whooo-hah!" The redhead howled.

Hawkeye and BJ looked at each other.

"I think I'd rather have you." Hawkeye nodded.

Max sighed.

"Hey, Klinger. It kinda looks like they've got their eye on you." BJ said quietly.

"Yeah, and they try looking up my skirt, I'll put that eye out." Max growled, pointing to his shoes.

"Major Houlihan would be proud of you." Hawk smiled. "Hey, we oughta at least be neighborly, don't you think, Beej?"

"Too bad we don't have a pie or something to give them."

"Oh, you mean, like the kind where a hand on a spring pops out, and hits them with another pie?" Max asked eagerly. "Those were all the rage back in Toledo."

"You know, I could have had a job designing those things. Instead, I had to go and become a doctor. I could have been a millionaire!" Hawkeye mourned.

"To think... with that kind of money, we could build a patio, buy some lawn chairs... we could entertain with the best of them." BJ said.

"With that kind of money, you could buy your way out of the army." Max enthused.

"With that kind of money, you could buy the army." Hawk sighed.

"Yeah, but what would you do with it?" Max asked.

"Put it out of everyone's misery." BJ said quietly.

The trio approached the quintet, and the redhead made a mocking gesture of a salute.

"G'mornin', sirs. And... er... ma'am." He chortled.

Max's eyes narrowed.

"That's SIR ma'am, to you." He snapped.

Hawkeye smiled.

"Uh, so... what brings you boys to our little corner of hell?" he asked.

"Aww, I can't say as far as these clowns go, but I'm here 'cause my old C.O. didn't know his ass from his elbow. You guys a medical outfit, right?" The redhead said contemptuously.

"What, us? Nah, we're no outfit. We're just a couple old pairs of slacks and a wrinkled tie."

"Yeah, I'd rather be up there at the front blowin' holes through commies."

Hawk and BJ looked at each other.

"Well, isn't that something. A representative from the first stage of the disassembly line." BJ remarked.

"Ain't nothin'." The redhead said proudly. "Say, where can a fella get somethin' to drink around here?"

"How about the latrine?" Max said loudly.

The redhead looked startled, then he cocked his head to the side, surveying the three a bit more closely.

"You two's officers, right?"

"Oh, yes. But we haven't done a thing to deserve it. All we do is save lives. I've never shot a commie in my life." Hawkeye said.

"He's very bitter." BJ said sympathetically.

"So... you two just bunk together, or do you share, too?"

"I'm sorry, Private. I'm afraid I don't know what you're asking." Hawk said sharply.

"Oh, come on. You know. I just don't wanna get off on the wrong foot. Is the company full of queers, or is it just the hairy one?"

Hawk and BJ looked at each other again.

"This conversation has just taken a decidedly wrong turn." Hawkeye said.

"So, what do you do? Pass him around?" The redhead asked loudly, unable to control his mirth. His friends in the front attempted to look as if they were having a good time, but ultimately failed. The two guys in the back had stepped so far back that they could almost pass for bystanders.

"You better watch yourself, carrot." Max suddenly hissed.

"Hey, we wasn't talkin' to you, miss. When we wants ya, we'll call for ya. That's your job 'round here, ain't it? Keepin' the lonely G.I.s company? Bet that's somethin they leave out of their letters to their wives." The redhead laughed uproariously, and his two friends looked more nervous than ever.

Max, however, was far from nervous. He slowly dug his heels into the dirt, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and unwavering, but nonetheless, the three boys heard it crystal clearly.

"That's it. You're gonna die now."

The redhead's mouth dropped into a mocking expression of shock.

"Oh no! Help! Help, ma! The mean lady's gonna hit me with her pur--"

He was interrupted by a rapid slug to his jaw. His buddies gasped and leapt back, as did Hawkeye and BJ. When they'd regained their senses and noticed that the redhead was on the ground and Max was preparing to deal him another blow, they both reached out and held him back.

"Klinger! Klinger! Max! Come on!" Hawkeye exclaimed.

"Like hell! Get up!" Max roared at the redhead, who was staring in shock at his hand, that came away from his lip coated in blood. He raised his eyes upward, then in a flash was back on his feet.

"Why, you little faggot! You got lucky! Probably caught one of your false nails on my jaw." He squeaked, then threw a punch of his own.

Max yelled and ducked, and Hawkeye and BJ jumped back, letting go.

"HEY! Come on, Private! That's enough!" BJ yelled.

"It ain't enough until I hit him!"

Max leapt back up then, and they faced each other, perspiring with hatred and anxiety. The redhead reached out and grabbed Max's purse.

"Hey!" Max screamed, then kicked him in the shin, driving a stiletto between the private's tibia and fibula. He dropped the purse into a puddle.

"You son of a bitch! Where in the hell are your balls, huh? Kickin' me with your high heel like a pussy?!"

The redhead then landed a good punch, and Max had to put everything he had into staying upright.

The next few minutes were a blur for both parties. Max began by ripping off his sleeves, and the next thing both of them knew, they were wresting on the ground like schoolboys, kicking and punching and screaming obscenities. Quite a crowd had gathered, but none tried to separate them after a corpsman came back with a bitten and bleeding thumb.

By this time, the spectators, including Hawkeye and BJ, were observing with an almost jaded disposition. They'd seen fights before, but there was just something about them that brought out the junior high kid in all of them. They'd even witnessed a few guys yelling "FIGHT!", only to have half the camp come running.

Through the mess, Radar appeared, eyes wide.

"What's goin' on?! Oh boy, a fight. Hey! What's goin' on?!" He cried.

"I dunno. Something about a boy trying to steal some lady's purse." Hawkeye said dully.

"Hey, that's Private Hynes! Oh boy. He got thrown out of his last unit, and already he's in a fight!?"

"That's what you get when you put a guy in the army, when he clearly ought to be in prison." BJ said.

"Oh boy... Major Houlihan's coming! She's gonna see this!"

"Well, if she can't see it, she can always sit on my shoulders." Hawkeye smiled.

Margaret was yelling from a distance, and the crowd parted for her, as it seemed prudent to do. She stood over the two warring men, screaming and demanding that they knock it off.

"Be careful, Margaret. Klinger's wearing spiked heels." BJ called.

"This is no joke, Hunnicutt! HEY! ON YOUR FEET, MEN!" She shrieked.

"Boy, that'd get me up." Hawk said in awe. BJ began to say something, but decided against it.

Margaret had no success, and she was beginning to grow agitated. Suddenly, behind her, she heard the sound of someone trying to get through the crowd and having less luck than she had.

"Margaret!" The voice of Major Frank Burns exclaimed, as the crowd drew back and expelled him from its mass. "Oof! Don't you dumbbells know enough to get out of the way when an officer comes through?!" He screamed behind him.

"Only when you're holding a scalpel, Frank." Hawkeye said.

"Oh... go suck shoelaces, Pierce!" Frank sputtered. Then, he looked at Margaret, and at the brawl going on at her feet. "Hey, what's going on?"

"What does it look like?" Margaret asked impatiently.

"Well... I dunno. It kinda looks like a fight."

"Brilliant." Margaret snapped. "Right in the middle of the camp! Do something, Frank!"

Frank looked at her, then at the fight, then back at her.

"Me?! What do you want me to do?"

"Make them stop FIGHTING!"

"Come on, Frank! Do that voodoo that you do!" Hawkeye said playfully.

"You stay out of this, CAPTAIN!" Margaret screamed darkly. "They won't listen to me!"

"Well, Margaret, they're just degenerates. They don't belong in the same army as you and me."

"I mean KLINGER and... whoever this guy is won't listen to me!"

"Oh. They won't listen to you? But you have such a commanding voice."

At that moment, Klinger leapt to his feet and began kicking Hynes with the toes of his shoes. Margaret seized this moment to grab him from behind. Frank leapt out of the way, and then yelped when the redhead leapt to his feet as well.

Hawkeye and BJ were on it, though, and they immediately grabbed him and backed up several feet.

"Come on, lemme at him! He ain't half done with me yet!" Max snarled.

"Little pansy! Running away from a fight, huh?!" Hynes retorted.

Margaret yelped as Max tried to break away, but she was able to keep him in her grasp.

"FRANK! Say something!" She howled.

Frank looked like a deer in the headlights, but out of immediate danger, he cleared his throat and postured.

"Allright, boys! What's this little scuffle all about? HMM?!"

"Aww, shut up, Major. Let me hit him some more!" Max said nonchalantly.

"Hey! Don't tell me to shut up, bub! Only one person can tell me to shut up, and that's--"

"Shut up, Frank." Margaret sighed.

Frank smiled tightly and tilted his head toward her, shifting up and down on his toes. He then let out a nervous giggle.

Hawkeye rolled his eyes at BJ.

"Okay, now, listen. I want some answers. First of all, Corporal..." He glared at Max. "What material is that dress?"

"Linen." Max answered promptly.

"A-HA. Linen. As in, our bedsheets linen? As in, ARMY linen?"

"Is our linen printed with little red roses?" Max asked.

"I'M the one asking the questions here!" Frank yelled. "I am officially considering this material as stolen and used for purposes unbecoming your rank."

"Well, while you're at it, how about my purse?"

Frank frowned, then looked around. He saw the slouched, wrinkled handbag sitting in a heap, and picked it up. He looked inside, then lifted it to his nose and sniffed.

"It smells like daisies." He said with amazement.

"And it looks like trousers!" Margaret added, more to the point.

"Hey, it does. Where'd you get this material?" Frank demanded.

"My trousers."

"Very funny, wise guy. I bet you cut up a pair of trousers for this, didn't you?"

"And a blanket. But you know what, Major?"

"What?" Frank asked.

"I wasn't the one who threw it on the ground and got it all muddy. Now THAT's showing disrespect to the army, don'tcha think, Major?"

Frank frowned.

"That's almost as bad as that distillery apparatus Pierce and Hunnicutt have. Who did that?"

"Him." Max pointed.

Frank looked at Max, then at Hynes, then back and Max, and then he cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back. He strolled over to Hynes with a casual look on his face.

"Hurry up with that scathing remark, Frank." Hawkeye said, struggling to hold Hynes back.

Frank ignored Hawkeye, and looked down at Hynes.

"So, Private. I hear you're not real fond of the army."

"I like the army just fine, Major. What I don't like is queers! He was carryin' a purse!"

"Well, bucko. Did it ever occur to you that maybe that purse used to be a pair of pants?" Frank exclaimed, as if he'd just said something of great importance.

"How in the hell do I know what that weirdo made his fancy-boy purse out of?"

"He made it out of a pair of pants. A pair of ARMY pants, just like you and I wear. Here at the front, we don't get a lot of pants. Each pair is like treasure, you know? I like to think of it as wrapping myself up in the American flag, except with legholes. Would you throw the American flag in the mud, Private?!"

"What the hell?! I ain't the one who made a purse out of it!"

"A-HA! So you're saying, that, if given the chance, you'd climb right up that flagpole, take our American flag, a symbol of our freedom and prosperity, and drag it through the mud?"

"I didn't say nothin! You're crazy! They never pulled this crap back in my old unit!" Hynes screamed.

"Well, maybe you ought to go back to your old unit!" Frank exclaimed trimumphantly.

Hynes suddenly broke away from Hawkeye and BJ, but they didn't make as much of an effort to stop him this time. He walked up to Frank and stuck his nose in Frank's face.

"What's that you say, Major?"

Frank grew nervous, and a frantic giggle escaped his lips.

"Well, I... y'know... I just said that, y'know, if you liked it so much back in your old unit, why not go back?"

"Go back to my old unit."

"If you like it better."

"You tryin' to kick me out, MAJOR?"

"Absolutely not!"

"So goin' back to my old unit, that's my idea. I'm askin' my C.O. to come back. I didn't get thrown out, did I, Major?"

"Of course not!"

"Good. I've had it with the lot of ya. I'm goin' back to my old unit."

"Gee... uh... good luck. Y'know. Hope they take you back." Frank said, smiling with terror.

"Oh, they'll take me back." Hynes said, then turned on his heel and strode down the road.

Silence reigned over the camp for quite a long time, and Frank looked around at everyone with a smile.

Max broke away from Margaret, and then looked after Hynes. He kicked at the dirt with his shoe, but then stopped when he remembered what a pain they were to clean.

A few minutes passed, and Frank became puzzled.

"So, what's everyone staring at me for? Doesn't everyone have any work they should be doing?"

Margaret smiled proudly.

"I knew you could do it, Major."

Frank looked at her with surprise, then laughed out loud.

"Of course I could do it, Margaret. You just gotta know how to talk to the men!"

With that, he suddenly remembered Max's purse. He'd set it down in the midst of the conversation, and he picked it back up, then handed it to Max.

"Take that somewhere and... and... do something with it." He said.

Max found himself smiling, and he took the purse with no ceremony. Frank was scowling at him, looking him up and down.

"You're a disgrace." Frank said with annoyance.

Max grinned even wider, then without hesitation, stood on his toes and kissed Frank on the cheek.

"I will never forget you, brave knight." He exclaimed, then pretended to swoon.

Frank backed away, grimacing.

"You're insane! You don't belong in this army!" He screamed.

Max's eyes lit up.

"Say it again, Major, and I'll wash your socks for the rest of your life!"

"Oh, go... go..." Frank stumbled over his thoughts and then simply turned around and stalked off.

"Just once? In front of the colonel? Could you sign my discharge-- oh, who gives a damn."

Margaret turned and left, walking in Frank's general direction, and Radar was clearly worried.

"What'm I gonna tell the colonel? Oh, jeez, what'm I gonna tell him?"

Hawkeye looked at BJ thoughtfully, then smiled.

"Tell him... that Frank actually did the right thing for once in his life. Maybe for all the wrong reasons, but nonetheless, he managed to do something good. When Hynes tries to sweet-talk his C.O., I hope he boots him back to the states in 48 different pieces."

Radar still looked worried, but seemed a bit more confident that he could think of something to say.

Max decided to go shine his shoes.

* * *

September 25, 1952

12:37 a.m.  
Charles eventually condescended to sit down on the mattress, and declared doubtlessly that it felt exactly the same as it had before he'd slept on it.

"Well, why the hell don't YOU sleep on it, then?!" Max exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Sleep on the bed of a CLERK? Are you mad?"

"What's the difference?"

"The DIFFERENCE is that you've never slept in MY bed. The DIFFERENCE is that I send my sheets to be laundered every three days. The DIFFERENCE is that I do not SHED."

Max stuck out his tongue.

"Well, fine, Major. Go back to your cot of cleanliness. I'm sure those pink sheets will make you feel like a princess."

Charles narrowed his eyes.

"I detest you."

"Well, you're welcome, Mei Ping."

Charles scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but promptly decided against it and looked at Max thoughtfully.

"Klinger... I believe we may have overlooked a rather glaring recourse."

"Whaddya mean?"

"The VIP tent, Max. The VIP tent. It's presently unoccupied, is it not?"

"What? You don't get to sleep there!"

"Max, be sensible! It's for one night!"

"But that tent's for VIPs, Major. I really don't want to be the one to have to break this to you, but if I must..."

"Come now! VIPs are VISITORS, Max. Who in their right mind would come to VISIT here?"

Max sighed and shook his head.

"Major, if I let YOU sleep in the VIP tent, then I have to let EVERYBODY do it."

"No, you don't!"

"Why not?"

"Because... I shouldn't have to explain this to you. The VIP tent is unoccupied, and I need a place to occupy. It practically writes itself."

"Major..." Max sighed, shaking his head. "I could get in some serious trouble for this. I'm sure you know that. I'm even more sure that you don't care."

"Max, I am desperate. I truly am." Charles admitted with more than a little difficulty.

"I know that, Major. But I stuck my neck out for you, and you still want more. I can't get you in the VIP tent, Major. I just can't. I don't know what I can do. I don't even know why I keep trying! Can I open up a vein for you, too?!"

Charles narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and Max exhaled sharply and turned away.

"Well... I don't know why you've gotten so upset." Charles said haughtily. "I'm very sorry for asking you to do your job!"

Max threw his hands in the air and then turned back toward Charles.

"This is what I'm talking about!"

"What?"

"THIS! This... 'it's your job' stuff. THIS is not my job, Major! I suppose it's impossible for someone like you to believe, but nowhere under my job description will you find the words 'manservant to pompous major'. Every time I turn around, you've got some kind of crisis that you can't take care of on your own, and then I have to bust my tail solving your problems for you, in ADDITION to running the camp! And all I ever get for my trouble is grief! Well, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, CHARLES, but as far as I am concerned, you can sleep in the mud! I am DONE! Good NIGHT!"

Max pivoted on his heel, pulled the lamp chain and engulfed his office in darkness. He then stomped over to his bunk, picked up the mattress and threw it on the floor, followed by his pillow and blanket; one dull thud after another, followed by one final thud that represented his own body collapsing on the mattress.

Charles stood stock still, staring into the blackness.

Max shifted on the uncomfortable mattress, rolling over and trying to find a comfortable position.

He failed.

"Major?" He sighed.

"What is it?" Charles asked. His tone of voice was unreadable.

"...Do you want my bed?"

* * *

November 21, 1951

"Where in the hell is Frank?!" Hawkeye yelled over his shoulder as he knelt over a wounded soldier.

"You'd think at a time like this, his absence would be a blessing." BJ called back, nodding to a nurse and getting to his feet.

Potter sighed as he took the pulse of his patient.

"Never fails, we're short the head nurse, and the bottom doc decides to take a hike as well."

"Prep him." Hawkeye instructed a nurse. "Boy, I sure feel bad for Margaret, missing all the fun. I wouldn't blame her if she decided never to come back."

"Oh, she'll come back. Unlike someone I could name, she's got true dedication to the job. Radar!" Potter called.

"Yes, sir!" Radar exclaimed, appearing at his side.

"Find--"

"Find Major Burns..."

"Find Major Burns."

"And make it pronto."

"Make it pronto. Good lad. Let's get into OR, gang."

Radar trotted off, holding his hat onto his head. The weather was disgustingly dismal, a far cry from the lovely breeze and promising sunshine of the previous week. What was warm and humid just a few days prior took a sudden and disarming turn into cold and rainy.

The last few days had been uneventful, what with Major Houlihan gone on her honeymoon and no patients for almost 4 days. The mood was generally jovial, though strangely apprehensive; jovial because of the lack of Major Burns being himself, apprehensive because at any moment he could have snapped out of it.

As Radar looked around, he found himself strangely worried; not about what Major Burns would call him when he was found somewhere, sheepish and raving... but actually worried about the man himself. He'd been so distant and subdued ever since Major Houlihan was married, and his eyes looked absolutely empty. He hadn't said so much as a word to anybody in days, and while most people found it refreshing, it was evident to Radar that something was probably very wrong.

As he looked in windows, pulled open doors and gave a timid "Major Burns?" at each turn, he felt his heart accelerate. He had a bad feeling, and when he had a bad feeling, he usually didn't have the luxury of sitting down at the end of the day with a sigh of relief and a bit of embarrassment for being so worried over nothing.

He reached Klinger's tent, and without thinking, pulled open the door. He took a quick scan of the interior, and was about to shut the door, but then something caught his eye.

"Major? Major Burns? Are you in here?" He whispered loudly. He'd definitely seen some kind of movement.

There was silence, then he gasped as he realized someone was crawling out from under the bed.

"Major Burns?!" Radar exclaimed.

The figure hesitated, then groaned and slid one rather hairy, high-heeled leg out from underneath.

"No." Max was suddenly saying, pulling himself out. "Unless he's developed fashion sense"  
Radar groaned, then turned for the door. Something stopped him, and he gave Max a strange look.

"Hey, what are you doing under there? There's wounded here!"

Max coughed, waving his hand in front of his face.

"It's dusty under there."

"Hey, I asked what you're doing under the bed. There's wounded here!"

"Mother, you're speaking so strangely! Maybe you ought to lie down." Max said sympathetically.

"Oh, fine! Act crazy. You haven't seen Major Burns, have you?"

"No, thank god." Max said, forgetting his ruse. "Did Colonel Potter mention the fact that I was gone?"

"No, he's too busy wondering where Major Burns is."

"Why? Where is he?"

"How should I know? He sent me to look for him!"

"Where do you suppose he went?" Max asked, putting on a plastic rain bonnet.

"Gosh, I don't know." Radar said. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna help you look for him."

"Well, hurry up."

Max scoffed.

"I just washed my hair yesterday. You think I'm gonna let that dirty rain ruin my wave?"

Radar sighed and the two of them stepped outside.

"You don't think he went AWOL, do you? I mean, over Major Houlihan?" Max asked frankly.

"What?" Radar exclaimed, opening the door to the mess tent.

"Well... y'know. He was in love with her, wasn't he?"

"Klinger, we shouldn't talk about Major Burns! We might find him and then he'll find us talking about him and we'll get in trouble." "Well, he should do a better job of keeping it quiet."

They walked into the mess tent, and Radar let out an involuntary cry and froze in place. Max rushed to his side and looked in the same direction Radar was staring.

Frank was sitting on the floor, against the far wall, knees against his chest, eyes wide and unblinking, staring into space.

"Oh my gosh, Klinger. It's Major Burns!" Radar whispered.

"It sure is." Max replied, his own eyes wide.

"He's sittin' on the floor! What's he doin', sittin' on the floor?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?"

Radar turned to Max, eyes wide with shock.

"I'M not gonna ask him! You ask him!"

"Not a chance! He looks crazy! He's liable to rip my nose off!"

"Well, what are we gonna do? They're gonna need him in OR!"

"Since when?" Max asked wryly.

"Oh, come on, Klinger! Oh, boy. What's he doin' on the floor?"

"Go ask him!"

"Oh, come on!"

"All right, fine. Do you want ME to ask him?"

"Golly, it's sure nice of you to offer." Radar said quietly.

"All right, but if he disembowels me, I'm blaming you." Max sighed, then picked up his skirt with one hand and hesitantly walked across the tent.

"Major Burns, sir?" Max asked quietly.

Frank finally blinked, then looked up. Max was taken aback by the look in his eyes; he looked strangely haunted, almost like he'd seen some kind of ghost.

"Go away. Can't you see I'm busy?" Frank asked, barely above a whisper.

"Busy? Major, there's wounded in the camp. They need you in OR." Max said.

"Wounded? That's impossible."

Max frowned, then got down on one knee, silently cursing his painful shoes.

"There can't be wounded. There isn't any wounded. She's not here. They can't do anything... she's not here."

"Who's not here, sir?" Max asked shakily, looking backwards at Radar.

"Margaret. She's not here. How can there be wounded?"

Radar looked rather worried, and Max shook his head, putting one hand over his mouth.

"Major, you need to snap out of it."

"Snap out of what?" Frank asked. "You're a corporal. What do you know? What do you know? Not a damn thing."

"Major..."

"Not a damn thing. You don't know anything. What's the matter with you?" Frank asked, voice rising.

"Major, you're talking crazy. You're... you're inching in on my territory." Max said, trying to laugh.

"You're disgusting. Where did you get that material?" Frank demanded, voice cracking.

"In Seoul." Max whispered.

"Seoul. Backwards country. What'd they sell that to you for? You're a man."

"That depends on who you ask, Major."

Frank looked at him, and he had tears in his eyes.

"You know, Corporal... yelling at you doesn't give me the same good feeling it used to."

Max didn't say anything. Couldn't think of anything to say.

"You're just disgusting. It's not fair... they all like you, don't they? You're crazy. You run around dressed like a woman, and they all like you." Frank said almost silently. "And the pipsqueak back there... you're ENLISTED men. ENLISTED... and everyone respects you. They give you the respect they should be giving me."

Max realized Radar was almost out the door, and he felt incredibly self-conscious, realizing that he was almost completely alone.

"You say I'm talking crazy... well, YOU'RE the crazy one. You... and... and Pierce... and Hunnicutt, even Colonel Potter. Every last one of you are insane. You're all... you're all horrible! You're just horrible! I wouldn't care if every single one of you died. Margaret's gone, and the whole camp can just go to hell." Frank was beginning to ramble, spurting uncontrollable anger in the form of two delicate streams of tears.

Max initially felt angry, indignant, but as the words sunk in, his heart felt unbearably heavy, and for that moment, the only thing he could think of was LaVerne. Major Burns sounded like his wife. He sounded exactly like her.

He found himself feeling nothing but sympathy.

"Aww, Major... come on. Don't talk that way." He said gently, totally aware of the irony of the situation; the officer the entire camp loathed, feared and despised, sitting on the floor in tears with no one but a lowly corporal for comfort... and the only reason Max was there was because the Major reminded him of his wife.

"It's true. Don't tell me it isn't."

Max shook his head, then scooted closer to Frank. For his effort, he was rewarded with a look of contempt.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm..." Max stopped.

"You're what?!" "I'm sitting down. So sue me. I'd like to see you squat in heels."

Frank frowned, then moved about a foot away.

Thus the two men sat, backs to the wall, hands in their laps, heads down, staring at the floor. Max realized Radar was gone, and he sighed deeply. The kid had gone and left him, just like that.

Frank sniffed.

"What's that smell?"

"What smell?" Max asked warily.

"It's you! It's you, isn't it? You smell like a girl!"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Frank scowled at him, then shook his head, blinking back more tears.

"It smells nice."

Max turned to Frank, eyes wide.

Frank didn't reply, or even look at him. He just looked at his kneecaps and let the tears fall.  
"I'm going to be all alone." He whispered. "What am I going to do without her?"

Max drew in a breath, stunned at how sad he found himself feeling.

"Major... she's still gonna be around. You'll see her every day." He said.

Frank let out an angry snort.

"Sure. See her every day... talking about Penobscott. Being married... not being able to talk to her, or touch her. Listening to Pierce and Hunnicutt, and what can I do now? I have no one to talk to. Can you believe it? She won't even let me talk to her anymore because she's scared of what I'll pull. I mean... I'm a married MAN, for crying out loud! I love my wife! I bet..." Frank suddenly looked up, a wild stare in his eyes. "I bet Margaret thinks I'm sitting here, pulling my hair out because I miss her so much. Ha! What a laugh. Oh, I know her. I know her, all right. She thinks I'm just devastated. She thinks I can't sleep anymore. She thinks SHE made me CRY for the first time since I was six years old. She thinks she's so... SPECIAL!"

He literally wailed the last word, burying his head in his knees and actually shaking.

Max gasped, frozen in place.

And then, he did the only thing he could think to do.

He slid over, put his arms around Frank, and drew him close to his shoulder. All the while, Max's heart was pounding, and he heard his mind screaming at him that he was going to have his nose broken, but he didn't stop.

Frank sobbed loudly into Max's dress, and to their mutual surprise, the awkwardness of the situation seemed to melt right away.

"Oh... you jerk... you bozo... sniff get your hands off of me. I'm a... I'm a major, for crying out loud." Frank wailed, making no effort to get up.

"Well, right now you're a crying-out-loud major."

"You... you degenerate."

"I love you, too."

Neither of them said another word.

It had been about 5 minutes before the door to the mess tent re-opened. Max jumped, and Frank did more than jump, he completely flew into a seated position and slid about 5 feet to the left, pointing at Max and wiping his tears.

"It was him! He molested me! He's not fit to be in this army!" Frank screamed.

Radar was standing in the doorway, clearly bewildered. Max's mouth dropped open, and he arched one eyebrow.

"MAJOR! That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"

Frank scowled at him.

"Uh... Major Burns, sir?" Radar said timidly.

"What do you want, you runt?"

"Um... Colonel Potter... uh... he'd sure like you to come to OR. And after that, he wants to see you in his office."

Frank frowned, then got to his feet.

"What does he want to see me about?"

"Oh, gosh, sir... I don't know. He said something about leave."

Max rolled his eyes.

"It figures. He doesn't do his job and they reward him. What a stupid army."

Frank looked down at Max.

"Hey, bucko. That's MY army you're talking about!"

"Yeah, and it wears combat boots!"

Frank sputtered, and with his red-rimmed eyes and red nose, tear-stained cheeks and pouting mouth, Max couldn't help but smile. He got to his feet, ignoring the pain in his right calf from his heel poking the skin, and he stood at attention, saluting.

"I'll never forget the time we shared, my darling." He exclaimed.

Frank rolled his eyes and began to storm away, but something stopped him, and he looked back over his shoulder.

"You don't speak a word of this to anybody, you hear me, Corporal?"

Max dropped his salute.

"I won't, sir."

"You better promise." Frank said warily.

"I promise, Major."

Frank sighed, shaking his head.

"Absolutely sickening." He muttered, then he walked out the door, into the rain.

Max wasn't there when Major Frank Burns left the following morning for his mental health 3-day pass, and he didn't hear about what happened to send him back to the states until much later, and even then, he wasn't sure if he ever heard the complete story. All he knew for sure was that there was only one woman that Frank Burns ever loved.

That woman was not Max Klinger.

* * *

September 25, 1952 1:08 a.m.

"Boy, what a night." Max sighed miserably.

Roughly 2 feet above him, Charles shifted and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Will you kindly hush up? It's bad enough I have to deign to spend the night on this two-bit cot. I came here to ESCAPE Pierce and Hunnicutt, not to be driven back to them by the likes of you."

Max sat bolt upright and snarled.

"Well, I'm SORRY, Major! I'll try to be a little quieter as I lie on my cold, damp floor. I hope I catch pneumonia. It'll be all your fault!"

Charles groaned and rolled over so he was facing the wall.

"Max, need I remind you that you OFFERED these accommodations to me?"

"Well, you big dummy! You weren't supposed to accept."

Charles laughed evilly.

"Klinger, do tell me. How is it possible that the Klinger family has managed to survive with a no-doubt collective mentality like that? It can't just be that you live in Ohio."

"Is that some kind of crack about Toledo? I'm warning you, Major... no one talks about Toledo like that."

"Hrm." Charles muttered.

Max sighed, satisfied that he'd adequately shut Charles up for awhile. He was already beginning to regret his act of kindness; feeling the hardness of the floor under himself, even with the piled up, spread out blankets serving as a crude cushion, would make sleep nearly impossible.

"What a night." Max sighed again. "Driven out of my own bed by a guy who I lied and told my buddies was some Korean floozy. My very reputation has been soiled, and what do I get in return? All kinds of grief and a backache that'll last me into next Tuesday. Y'know, my dad always said I was too nice. He said 'Max, you're just too damn nice.' I don't even think RADAR would have done this."

"Max, I have already expressed my appreciation for your sacrifice."

"Oh, please!" Max spat. "'Tha-haank you, Max.' That's what you say to someone who rotated your tires."

"What would you have me say?"

"Aww... I don't know." Max sighed, leaning back onto the floor.

"Because... don't get the wrong idea. Certainly I appreciate what you've done. A man would be an utter ass to show a lack of gratitude." "Uh-huh."

"What?! Are you implying that my behavior is in some way ungentlemanly?" Charles exclaimed, now sitting up himself.

"I didn't say anything, Major."

"Oh-ho! I see then, you conniving little gnome! You weren't going to say anything, were you? You were content to just sit back and let me look like a lout, while you shone like a penny!"

"Major, please. I've got a headache already!"

Charles swung his legs off the edge of the bunk, then squatted down next to Max's makeshift bed.

"Max, look at me."

"Oh, no... Major, it's way too late for this..."

"Am I a man without principle?"

"You could be a man without a head right now, and I wouldn't care. Go to sleep and I'll forget the whole thing. Really."

"Max, how can I ever adequately express my remorse? My behavior has been truly abominable." Charles was speaking with an edge of near-panic in his voice, and Max found himself wondering how the Winchesters managed to survive so many generations with such horrendous social skills. It couldn't just be that they lived in Massachusetts...

"Major, look, forget it. I'm used to it! You can make it up to me by just shutting up and letting me sleep."

"Then, get up."

Max rolled over then, and was just barely able to make out Charles' figure in the darkness.

"Major..." He began, but he no sooner got the word out than he realized that Charles was right on top of him now, or at least as close as a person could be without using him as a cushion. "Major, you're making me rethink that trip to Seoul thing. I'll talk to the colonel, maybe he can get you permanently reassigned..."

"Max, I've been a cad. Now give me those blankets."

"What?!" Max sputtered.

"I am proposing a trade. I will proudly and steadfastly endure the hardness of the floor, and you are welcome to your bunk."

"Major, I'm this close to foregoing the 'oh, I couldn't' line." Max said, eyes wide.

"Forego away. I shall not stand for my reputation as a philanthropist to be soiled just because of a little discomfort."

"Oh, no, Major. It's a LOT of discomfort." Max replied. "I think it might even be worse than that dumb bed."

"You have three seconds to get in that dumb bed before I change my mind." Charles said through gritted teeth.  
"Boy, if I had a nickel for every time I've heard that one." Max said, grinning. "Your slightest touch commands obedience."

He got up, tentatively sat down on the edge of the bed, and then pulled his legs onto the mattress. Charles silently lay down on the blankets with an air about him that just screamed "martyr".

Max sighed at the initial softness of his mattress, in stark contrast to the fuzzy but rock-hard floor. He was well on his way to sinking into a restful slumber...

Until he heard a piercing "SPROING!", and felt a shudder that sent a chill through his veins. He screamed and sat bolt upright, the bed still swaying.

He squinted through the darkness, and saw, just below his hips and between his legs, a large spring sticking out of the mattress.

"Ohhhh, my god!" He exclaimed, sliding back toward the wall. "It tried to kill me!"

"What?" Charles asked.

"The bed! Dear god, it's trying to kill me! Look at this!!"

Charles sat back up with some effort, and frowned into the darkness.

"I don't see anything."

Max looked down, then completely slid off the bunk as he realized what a close call he'd had.

"You see now?! It just popped right out of the bed! This mattress meant BUSINESS, too."

Charles nodded impassively.

"Well, that certainly was a close call."

"A CLOSE CALL?! Another centimeter and... boy! Whose side is this stupid bed on?! It's a double agent!"

"Well, it would certainly seem that it got up on the wrong side, as it were. I'm certainly glad I got off it when I did."

Max frowned at Charles, knees still shaking.

"Major, I AM correct in assuming that you don't know a thing about this, right?"

Charles scoffed.

"Max, I am a physician! I swore to do no harm, no matter how annoying I may find a person. I believe the fault lies with the army, as per the usual."

"Yeah, well, if I can ever walk again, I'll be sure and give it a piece of my mind. Boy, you think you know a mattress! It lulls you into a false sense of comfort and security, molds to your very body, and then one day, BAM! Just like that, it impales you on a spring."

"I'm sure another 'army' analogy would come off as redundant."

"This is just great. I'm gonna be sleeping on the floor for the rest of the war. Do you have any idea how long it's gonna take I-Corps to send me a new mattress? They could get me one from Julio's Slumber Factory in downtown Toledo and it'd get here first. And Julio takes his TIME, let me tell you."

"Max, come now. A mattress is a necessary piece of equipment. Surely not even the charletans at I-Corps can deny that."

"I guess we're gonna find out." Max said mournfully. "I'd say that this really stinks, but I think that would be redundant. You wanna move over?"

Charles hesitated.

"Move... over?"

"You think I'm sleeping on that floor with no padding, you're nuts."

"W... I... I assumed you would... want separate... bedding." Charles managed to get out.

"We only have so many blankets, Major. I'm not thrilled about this, either, but to be perfectly honest, compared to that bunk, the floor sounds downright cozy."

"Well, why did you think I let you have it back?"

"A-ha. I knew it!" Max exclaimed, smoothing out what Charles had left him to be his "side" of the "bed". "You can't fool me, Major. I mean, you can, but not for long."

"Max, it is indeed a sorry state of affairs when a wooden FLOOR is preferable to a mattress." Charles sighed. "I suppose... I owe you some sort of apology."

"Oh, Major. Don't trouble yourself." Max said sleepily. "This pillow is horrible."

Charles remained sitting up.

"Major, go to sleep. You're in my dark."

"You know... something has just occurred to me."

"I think I'm starting to see why Hawkeye and BJ let out their frustrations on you."

"Exactly! Max, exactly! Pierce and Hunnicutt! This is their fault, entirely... albeit indirectly, it is nonetheless because of them that we're lying here on this floor."

"Mmm."

"It is because of them that I was wrenched from my own sleeping quarters, driven into isolation and shame. And you! Do you believe that if those two buffoons hadn't kept me up all night, I'd have EVER fallen asleep on YOUR bunk? Well, not that the two events are in any way connected, but to leave you to your illusions helps the story fall into place."

"Hmm. You kinda have a point, Mei Ping."

"And that, as well! Your alleged 'shaming'. The Mei Ping figure. All because of Pierce and Hunnicutt."

"Well, give yourself SOME credit, Major."

"Max, don't you see? Don't you see what this calls for?"

"Whatever it is, I'll take a rain check."

Charles leaned over and grabbed Max by the shoulder. He leaned in so close that their noses were almost touching.

"REVENGE! Sweet, succulent revenge! Think of it, Max! Glorious, glorious revenge!"

"Major, this is your whale, not mine." Max practically whined.

"What? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're on my side of the bed, and I kick. Hard."

"Come, now! Your honor is as much at stake as mine is!"

"Yeah... I guess it is, but..."

"Do you really want to be known throughout the camp as a Lebanese Lothario?"

"Is that bad?"

"It could be devastating for your character!"

"Well, I could always just say that you made me say it because you're a big coward who's terrified of a couple guys wearing pink longjohns and a hawaiian shirt."

"You wouldn't do that."

"I'm not sure, Major. It might take a lot to persuade me."

"Your own integrity ought to be enough stipulation!"

"Yeah, but you can't SLEEP on integrity."

In the darkness, Charles' eyes narrowed.

"What, exactly, do you propose?"

"First, get back on your own side of the bed."

Charles was flustered, and he slunk over, nearly off the edge of the blanket.

"Now, then, my native peach. Let's talk." Max said, grinning widely.

Again.

* * *

February 4, 1952

"For a rich aristocrat with politicians wrapped around his mumsy and dadsy's little finger, you're damn right I'm gonna wear clean stockings!" Max cried, leaning over Radar's desk to drive his point home.

"Well, that doesn't change the fact that I can't give you another bar of soap for a week and a half. Come on, how'd you use a whole bar of soap to wash your... y'know... socks?" Radar found himself asking.

"You ever try getting leg hairs out from between threads in fishnet stockings?"

The young company clerk's face went beet red and he suddenly became very interested in the surface of his desk.

"I didn't think so." Max gloated.

"Well, you still can't get another bar of soap. And, I mean, that's just... it's final."

"Boy." Max said, sighing. "Well, looks like it's gonna be that gallon of chocolate-scented rosewater I bought from a street-peddler in Seoul."

Radar looked up and grimaced.

"You mean that stuff with the mushy rose petals in it?"

"Ahh! You remembered!"

"I remember Hawkeye and BJ switched Major Burns' coffee with that stuff once, and he spit it on me as I was giving him his mail." Radar said mournfully.

"And just think, women actually LIKE that stuff. But, if you can't help me out, what choice do I have?"

"Oh..." Radar frowned, looking at his lap. "Okay, look, Klinger. Don't tell anyone, 'cause I could get in some real trouble..."

He reached into his desk drawer, and quickly drew out a brown paper-wrapped package.

Max's eyes softened and he took the hoarded soap and breathed deeply.

"Ahh, kid. My pores thank you, as does, I'm sure, the entire camp."

Radar shook his head and stuck out his tongue at the memory of the rosewater.

At that moment, the door to Radar's office burst open. Max spun around, still clutching his soap, with a big grin on his face.

And to his excitement, he found himself staring right at the man he'd washed his stockings for:

The tall, stuffy and pompous major with political connections and enough money to buy and sell Max's entire neighborhood a dozen times.

His ticket out.

Major Charles Emerson Winchester III.

"MAAAJOR!" Max exclaimed. "What a coincedence! You're just the man I wanted to see!"

"How fortunate for you. You've seen me." Charles said dismissively, looking at Radar. "Corporal, kindly inform me as to the status of the incoming mail."

Radar looked at him and frowned.

"Uh, it hasn't come just yet, Major Winchester, sir."

"When do you expect it?"

"Well, any minute now, sir."

Max stepped into Charles' path and put one hand on each of Charles' shoulders.  
"Sir, I have the grandest idea. While we wait for the mail to come, why don't we take a walk. I can tell you all about the tragedy that has befallen my youngest son, Ishmael."

"Klinger, I could not possibly care less." Charles said, pushing Max's hands away.

Radar chimed in with an immensely helpful, "Hey, Klinger, you don't have any kids"  
"Did I say my son? Foolish me. Of course I meant my uncle, the senator from Ohio. HIS son, Ishmael. Major, you've never heard such a tragic tale."

"And that is the way it shall stay. Corporal, allow me to impress upon you the great importance of the parcel I am so eagerly expecting..." Charles said, turning back to Radar.

"Oh, don't worry, sir. I'll make sure you get it. I mean, that's my job."

Charles said nothing. Clearly he didn't believe that was enough assurance.

Outside, wild squealing tires could be heard from a distance. Radar looked up and immediately ran to the door, threw it open and began yelling.

"Don't you keep driving THIS time, Sanderson! Stop that jeep!"

Charles and Max both stared with bemused interest in the direction of the door, and cringed when the tires came to a screeching halt, followed by a dull thump.

"Boy, Radar! You act like you can't take a joke!" A slurring male voice chortled. "Didn't you see the sign I wrote on the back? 'Come rain, or sleet, or dark of night. Who cares, I'll be in bed!'"

"That's all the mail?" Radar asked warily, which inspired Charles to run into the doorway and make a general pest of himself.

"The mail? Give it to me. Where's my package?" He asked eagerly.

"Hey! Major, you gotta wait your turn!"

"Pish-posh. Of what possible importance could any of these other scrawled rags be?"

"Well, hey! They're letters. So long, Sanderson!" Radar called after the departing jeep. He turned to go back into his office, Charles in hot pursuit.

"Hurry up!" Charles said irritably.

"Hey! Major, come on! I gotta separate this stuff out before I-- HEY!" Radar exclaimed, as he realized that Charles had grabbed the mail sack and gracelessly dumped its contents on the floor. "Major! Hey! You don't get to do stuff like that!"

Charles, however, was not pleased.

"Where is it?" He growled.

"What are you looking for?" Max asked uselessly.

"The package! There is no package in here!"

"Well, I guess it didn't come." Radar said.  
"How could it NOT COME?! It was to arrive on the fourth, promptly at noon."

"Gosh..." Max cried. "The army never screws things up! Something really must be wrong! Come on, Major, let me console you, perhaps over a glass of iced tea?"

"That... that man... he must not have given you all the mail." Charles said desperately.

Radar was bent over, furiously picking up letters.

"Sir, this is all there is. Really... now, listen, I got work to do, and..."

"Corporal, you clearly do not comprehend the magnitude of the situation."

Radar frowned.

"You're right, I sure don't."

"I shall be in my tent. FIND IT." Charles hissed. He turned around haughtily and marched out the door.

Radar sighed deeply, still picking up letters. Max took a half-hearted look at a few of them, but then decided to leave.

"Hey, thanks for the soap, kid." He said.

"Oh, uh... sure."

"You're a real lifesaver."

"Oh, golly. Not me."

"Hey, you think he likes me?" Max whispered conspiratorially.

"Heck no."

"Good." He grinned. "See ya."

Radar sighed and made himself comfortable.

Max slipped out the door. Up ahead, he saw Charles, angrily making his way toward The Swamp. Max stopped for a second, then primped his hair and smoothed his stockings.

His heart was pounding, and he thought, a bit sheepishly, that it was almost like being in love. If his plan did work out, and the major did manage to get him out of the army through his influence, he'd plant a such kiss on old baldy his grandchildren would end up with huge noses.

He waited just a second, then acted casually, strolling along, en route to The Swamp. BJ was on shift, and Hawkeye had stumbled out of the previous night's poker game at roughly 3:30, thus Max was confident that nothing short of the end of the war could get him out of bed until sometime late that afternoon.

So it was just the two of them.

Or at least he hoped it was.

He saw Charles enter The Swamp, then he sidled up to the door as well, gave a light knock, and without waiting for an answer, stepped in.

To his dismay, he saw that not only was Hawkeye awake, he was bored. He had a ping-pong paddle in one hand and a dart in the other, and he looked up at Max sheepishly as it became obvious that he planned to attempt to send the dart into the dartboard with the ping-pong paddle.

"Hey, Klinger! Great to see ya. You might want to move." Hawk said cheerfully.

"Gee, Captain. With as late as you turned in last night, I'm surprised to see you conscious." Max replied.

"You'd be surprised how hard it is to sleep in the same tent as someone who's able to make voices come out of a box with a push of a button." Hawkeye sighed, tilting his head and closing one eye. "At 6:30 in the morning, I start to see why they burned people for witchcraft."

"If you can sleep through Reveille, my tape recorder ought to be childs' play." Charles said haughtily.

"But, you see, Charles, the difference is that Reveille doesn't punctuate every sentence with 'Ho-ho ho-ho!'." Hawkeye did his best pompous laugh and then whacked the dart, which smacked against the door and rolled under his bed.

Charles turned to Hawkeye, eyes flashing with anger.

"That is my MOTHER you're talking about!"

"Charles, you've listened to that tape 20 times. Every time you put it on there, I hear the reels screaming for mercy. Why can't Mumsy and Dadsy use pen and paper like everyone else?"

"I shall not even dignify that with a response. Furthermore, I'm certain you will be glad to know that I expect another tape today."

"Oh, fabulous. I just can't WAIT to hear if Mrs. Ambrose has stopped eating the azaleas."

Charles stood up huffily.

"She does not EAT the azaleas, and I'll kindly ask you to mind your own business!"

"Well, maybe you could help me out with that. Stop playing the tape, and I won't feel inspired to inscribe it verbatim on the latrine wall anymore."

"I despise you."

"I might even leave out the part about finding your old short-pants and bow tie, and 'oh, I recall how you used to entertain at parties, dancing with an accordion, pretending to be a little colored boy...'"

"ALL RIGHT, PIERCE."

Max grinned, folding his arms.

"Boy, you were one weird kid, Major."

"Klinger, what do you want?" Charles asked suddenly.

"'Kid'? That was when he was in medical school!" Hawk exclaimed.

"Pierce, isn't there someplace cold and wet that you could go for a few hours? Klinger, what do you WANT?"

"What? Now I gotta have a reason to drop in and say hi?"

"Klinger, let me impress something upon you. I do not, nor have I ever, responded to 'hi'."

"Charles, you ass." Hawk said brightly.

Charles stared at him darkly.

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Oh, nothing. I was just checking to see what you do respond to."

Charles was preparing to speak, but at that moment the door opened and Radar came in.

"Mail call, sirs." He said quietly.

"Radar, you're blocking my shot!" Hawkeye said, holding the paddle behind his head. Radar noticed what was about to occur and leapt out of the way, unfortunately landing about an inch from Charles.

"Corporal." Charles said, and Radar jumped with shock, back into the way of Hawkeye's shot.

"Radar!" Hawkeye yelled.

"Boy!" Radar screamed, finally running behind Hawkeye. Charles had his eyes on Radar, and he stepped into the way of Hawkeye's shot, hands on his hips.

"Charles, I gotta tell you, I'm to the point where I'll aim this at anything." Hawkeye said pleasantly.

Radar was concentrating on laying envelopes on Hawkeye's bed, and Charles cleared his throat loudly.

"Corporal, it would appear that you've forgotten something." Charles said.

"Like what, sir?" Radar asked distractedly.

"My PACKAGE, Corporal."

"Oh, no, sir. There was no package."

Max came up behind Charles and put his head against Charles' back, sighing deeply.

"Major, I know how much you must be suffering right now. Here, come. Sit down, I'll give you a massage."

"What do you MEAN there was no package?!" Charles asked. "Corporal, in the army there is no room for ineptitude!"

"That's why they make me sleep in the manger." Hawkeye said.

"Sir, honest. There was no package. Honest. You saw it yourself, with your own two eyes!" Radar said defensively.

"This cannot be." Charles said worriedly.

Hawkeye rolled his eyes.

"Charles, you forget, you're not in Tokyo anymore. We're in the middle of nowhere as far as the mail service is concerned. If your package comes in a month, consider it early!"

"I shall do no such thing! Klinger, get OFF of me." Max drew back with annoyance.

"See if I ever try and comfort you again! Some of my lipstick got on your shirt, and I'm GLAD."

"What could be the delay?" Charles asked.

"You mean besides the war?" Hawkeye asked, cringing as he sent his dart flying toward the mosquito netting. "No wonder this never caught on."

"Uh, well, Major Winchester, sir, you did get this letter." Radar said, holding out a stiff white envelope.

"Hand it over, you knave!" Charles snatched the letter away, scanning the front of it with increasingly horrified eyes.

"Oh my dear lord. It's from my mother." He whispered.

"Gee, that's great, sir!" Radar said happily.

"Great?! You fool, can't you see that this is not a tape?!"

"Maybe it's some sort of message, Charles. Maybe it's been encoded onto some sort of paper-thin storage medium, and the only way to retrieve the message is by unfolding it and somehow decoding the symbols." Hawkeye suggested.

"Corporal, put through a call to Boston immediately. Something must have happened." Charles ordered, panicking.

Radar looked at him worriedly, and Hawkeye rolled his eyes and dropped the dart.

"Charles, aren't you even going to READ the letter first?"

"You imbecile, my mother hasn't used PAPER since 1949. What could this mean?"

"And, of course we can't OPEN THE ENVELOPE and find out." Hawk snapped.

"There is no TIME, Pierce! CORPORAL!"

"I'm goin, sir! Oh, boy, I'm goin'." Radar cried, running out the door.

"Oh, for god's sake. Give me that." Hawk muttered, snatching the envelope.

"What are you doing?!"

"I'm reading your mail. Don't worry, I do a great Mumsy."

"You are reading my mail. That is a FELONY, you... buccaneer."

"I won't tell if you won't, darling."

"Oh, give me that." Charles wrenched it back out of Hawk's grip and tore it open.

"READING the letter. Boy, why didn't I think of that?" Hawk sighed, sitting back down.

Charles took in the words, and Max watched him curiously as his eyes widened and he sat down on his bunk.

"Poor guy. What do you suppose it says? I mean, I don't wanna sound like some kinda... y'know... but... gosh, do you think it's bad?" Max said quietly. "I mean, I know wounded guys are vulnerable, am I dressed for this? Is it too trampy?"

"I'd have worn the pink chenile, myself." Hawk said.

"I KNEW IT!"

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the sound of Charles laughing uproariously.

Max frowned.

"Boy, forget the pink chenile. If I'd known that would be his reaction, I'd have gone with the red lace."

"Charles, could you try to mourn a little less jubilantly?" Hawkeye asked.

Charles looked up, wiping his eyes.

"Mother and Father are in Venice." He declared. "The porter at the airport misplaced their tape recorder. The swine."

"Oh, Major. You must be so relieved!" Max said happily. "Your family isn't dead! That's cause for celebration if ever I heard it. Come on, let me buy you a drink."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"You?"

"Yeah, me. Come on, Major. You need to go tell Radar to get off the phone, anyway. Why not make a day of it?"

Oddly enough, Charles didn't refuse.

* * *

September 25, 1952

6:52 a.m.

"Ohhhh no."

"Klinger."

"Ohhhhhhhh no. I've been framed. You can't put this on me."

"Max."

"You didn't see it! You can't prove anything! Someone could have come in in the middle of the night and... I mean, I'm a heavy sleeper..."

"Max, I cannot feel my arm."

"I don't know what you're telling ME for!"

"I am telling you because you are LYING on it."

It was chilly for September, the kind of morning that invited even the most duty-bound man to roll over, pull the covers up and stare up at the brightening sky, thanking Heaven itself for a cold wind to clear his mind. It was the kind of morning that made you dig out your long-buried sweatshirt and ignore the fact that it smelled like old sweat from the last day in April when you wore it in the morning and ripped it off at noon. The kind of morning where you could feel the heat of the coffee as it went down, at least until it made you gag, at which point you could also marvel at the warmth of tears going down your cheeks as you hacked your lungs out.

The floor was as uncomfortable as it had ever been, but as Max's eyes opened that morning, he hardly felt it. Something about a cool morning after months and months of stifling heat made him sigh with happiness, despite the fact that the first sight he took in was the side of his desk.

He sighed again and rolled over, thinking of nothing but the how good the blanket seemed to feel, when he noticed a strange, rather uncomfortable lump underneath his shoulders.

Opening his eyes, he realized much to his dismay, that he was still sleeping next to Charles.

Or rather, on top of Charles' arm.

Once the fact had been established by both parties, Max leapt into a seated position faster than he could ever remember having moved in his life. He leaned forward, pulling his knees to his chest and staring at the floor. He felt vaguely sick and thoroughly humiliated.

Charles, meanwhile, frowned as he made a fist and shook his hand, trying to get feeling back into it.

"Somnolent boob." he muttered.

Max frowned behind him, shivering a little. He'd gone to bed in his shorts and t-shirt and at the moment he was beginning to wish he'd worn something more substantial, and not just because it was darn cold.

Suddenly, his eyes jolted open and he gasped.

"Major, what time is it?"

Charles yawned, shook his hand some more and prepared to look at his watch, but Max was already on his feet, looking out the door, near panic.

"It's morning! Major, get UP! It's morning!"

"What's gotten into you?" Charles asked lazily.

"It's morning! People are gonna get up!" Max cried, trying to drag the blanket out from under Charles. "Come on, get up! Someone'll come in and see us."

"Max, come now. Settle down. It's not as if we've committed some sort of crime. Granted, sleeping on the floor next to you is hardly beneficial to my personal well-being, but there's no need to overreact."

"Major, there's always a need to overreact. The last thing we need is for someone to come in here, especially Hawkeye and BJ..."

That got Charles onto his feet.

Max smiled to himself, then rolled the blankets up and shoved them under his bed with great difficulty.

"My god, I'm still in my clothes from yesterday. How can I ever go change with those two hooligans lurking like the vermin they are... watching, waiting for me..." Charles said quietly, pacing.

"Did you think about what I said last night?"

"What?"

"Y'know. What I said last night."

"You mean that ridiculous comment you made in reference to Pierce and Hunnicutt's hijinks and your 'brilliant' plan for exacting revenge?"

"Whaddya mean ridiculous? Last night you were all for it!"

"Last night, I was 'all for' a form of retribution that wouldn't taint my very self-worth, Max. You have no panache for this kind of thing."

"I beg your pardon?! You, Major, happen to be looking at the only guy in all of sophomore year who ever got a picture of Biff Fatone eating chocolate pie." Max announced.

"I'm... I'm sorry, before you begin regaling me with this no-doubt enthralling chapter in your life, would you excuse me? Just, just long enough to... perhaps... move in to the enlisted men's tent?"

Max frowned.

"Major, this is serious. Do you know who Biff Fatone is?"

"Of COURSE I don't know who 'Biff Fatone' is. What in God's name would possess you to think for one moment that I would know someone named Biff Fatone?"

"I thought as much. He was my gym teacher in high school. Well, the parts of it I was there for. Boy, you never saw a bigger jerk. You think the ARMY's bad, you never met Biff Fatone." Max explained.

"Clearly, Max. We have already established that."

"Anyway, he had this thing, where if you got tired halfway through your 8 mile run or couldn't do a push-up or something, he'd drop everything, stop class and yell, 'Boy, have you been eating chocolate pie again?'. Oh, boy, you knew you were in trouble when he said that. He only said it to me once, and I never forgot it. To this day, when I hear the words 'chocolate pie', I still get chills."

Charles was already losing patience with Max's anecdote, pacing, looking out the window.

"Anyway, he'd ask if the guy'd been eating chocolate pie. He'd yell back, 'no sir, Mr. Fatone! Just meat and potatoes, sir!'. And Biff would get right in your face and he'd yell, 'You've been eating chocolate pie! Breakfast, lunch and dinner, chocolate pie.' And the guy would say, 'No sir.' And then you know what he'd do? He'd let you sit on the bench. Just sit there, through the rest of gym. Boy, you'd think you got off EASY. But the NEXT day, he'd tell us all that he had a SPECIAL surprise for all of us, that Mrs. Biff Fatone baked it just for us and boy were we gonna love it. And you know what it was, Major?"

Charles smiled humorlessly through ever-glazing eyes.

"No, don't tell me. Let me guess. A chocolate pie."

"Not just one. OHHHH no. 20. 20 chocolate pies. And Biff Fatone would call that kid up to the front of the gym and he'd make him eat chocolate pie until he blew. Then the next day, that kid would have to do twice as much as everyone else, since he had all that chocolate pie to work off."

"Max... besides needlessly reinforcing my decision to avoid the state of Ohio like an infectious disease, has this story any point whatsoever?"

"You're damned right it has a point! Me and a bunch of the guys in his class were real fed up with it, so we made a bet; we'd bring a slice of chocolate pie to school every day, leave it in his office, and see if we could get a photo of him eating it. None of the other guys could do it! They all either got caught or just didn't have it in them."

"And... you did."

"That's right!" Max exclaimed, pulling open a drawer. He produced a small envelope and whipped out a small, cropped photograph. "Bradley 'Biff' Fatone, caught brown-handed."

Charles took the picture and squinted at it. It had faded a bit and had gotten wet at some point, but he could still clearly see a hulking, black-haired man leaning over his desk, fork in hand, a slice of some ghastly pastry half-devoured before him.

"Well, Max. That certainly was a lovely story, and I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed hearing it." He said, smiling tightly.

"I hear a big 'but' coming."

"NEVERTHELESS," Charles continued. "If your Biff Fatone hijinks represent your entire prank portfolio, I'd just as soon do this myself."

"Oh yeah? And what's your brilliant idea, Mei Ping?" Max asked bitterly.

"I... will you stop calling me that?"

"I think it fits you."

"Believe me, should I need a photographer, or should my plan involve pie in some way, I shall not hesitate to contact you, as you seem to be an expert in that field."

"I always hated gym. Didn't you?" Max said suddenly.

"With ebullience. Now--"

"Me too. Always having to run around, do stuff you don't want to do, get yelled at, take showers with other guys... boy, that was miserable. Not to mention, there was always some big bully who threw the ball at you just so he'd look good."

"Indeed." Charles said, glancing out the door. "And let us not forget the token swarthy little cretin who delighted in absconding with upperclassmen's undergarments and placing them inside the custodian's closet."

"I HATED that guy! Oh, oh, and how about that guy who didn't know anything about sports, but kept trying to correct everyone playing because HE thought it should be going another way? He was always talking about his father, too. His father who worked at City Hall or somewhere. What a jerk."

"Abominable character. I believe the worst of them, however, was the boy who sat out, and when questioned as to why he wasn't participating, would reply with 'I have cramps'."

"That guy made me so mad! Acting like he can get out of gym by pretending to be a girl!"

"Truly deplorable. Now, if we've finished... it's got to be nearly seven a.m." He looked at his watch to confirm it. "7:03."

"You think... they're up?" Max asked.

"I cannot say. They knew I didn't come home last night. They'll be expecting me, of that we can be certain. I do not dare enter the tent until they've gone." He looked at Max thoughtfully.

"Don't even think it. Ohhh no. I was with Mei Ping last night, remember? I don't know anything about where you were."

"Very well, then. We shall just go to the supply room and get some new clothes."

"Hey, why not, emperor. We sure haven't broken enough regulations yet."

Charles was already halfway out the door, and Max sighed, looking at himself and realizing he was still in his shorts. If they were quick, it might not matter, but the odds that they'd actually be quick enough to avoid seeing anyone were almost nil. Charles had managed to keep his own pants on and the only humiliation he'd be wont to endure would be the fact that his clothing was wrinkled.

Max took a deep breath, eyed his own trousers halfway across the room, roughly an inch or so from the door to Colonel Potter's office, and decided to just wing it, as it were, despite the cold.

"Listen, Major... what about the OTHER thing we talked about last night?" He asked.

"What would that be?" Charles asked.

"Oh, don't you play dumb with me. You know, the OTHER thing? About how you still owe me for my bed? AND the Mei Ping thing?"

"Oh, of course."

"'Of course', as in, you're not gonna do anything about it."

Charles didn't respond, and Max sighed and shrugged.

The supply room was somewhat of a godsend, with no windows to let any cold air in, it was quite a few degrees warmer than Max's office, and he sighed deeply as he slammed the door.

"Hmm. So, Mei Ping, is this a strictly business-type search for pants?" Max asked, faux-flirtatiously.

"You are loathesome."

"What size are you, again?"

"Never mind... just... stand by the door, in case someone should come."

Max stuck out his tongue behind Charles' back, then meandered over toward the door. Charles finished his search with surprising quickness, and they slipped out without being seen.

"Now, then. That's been done." He said as soon as they were back in Max's office. "All I need do now is somehow make it to the showers with my dignity intact."

"Boy, Major. This was some night." Max half-laughed, relief that it was all over washing over him. "I gotta say, strictly off the record, sleeping with you ain't half bad."

"I have a bad feeling. They know." Charles said, ignoring what Max was saying.

"Say what?"

"They know I'll be going to the showers. They won't allow an opportunity like that to go to waste."

"Major, you're being paranoid. Anyway, you gotta get out of here..." Max suddenly couldn't wait to get Charles the hell out of his office, there was only so much he could take, after all.

Charles let out a quiet whimper, then turned toward Max and grabbed his hand.

"Come with me." He whispered.

"What...?" Max asked warily. "Come with me. Pierce and Hunnicutt wouldn't dare inflict their juvenile pranks on you. I shall only require your presence for a brief interval, then I will not bother you again."

"What do you mean my 'presence'? Major, I barely got a wink of sleep last night, I'm starving, I need to use the latrine..."

"But above all, you need to bathe! Come, Max! A refreshing shower will do wonders for your mood!"

"My mood's fine, Major, and if by 'mood', you meant something else, you don't exactly look OR smell like a million bucks, yourself."

"Max, I realize that you have made many sacrifices for me, and to ask you to do another is rather scurrilous of me, but surely even you cannot be so blind that you cannot see that to leave me alone in such a state would be downright... savage of you."

"Appealing to my better nature. That's cute, Major."

"Call it what you like. Are you coming?"

"As long as we don't have to look at each other." Max said stubbornly. "It's too early in the morning to go blind."

* * *

February 4, 1952

1:17 p.m.

"In other words, when you say 'let me buy you a drink', what you actually mean is 'I have no money and I intend to make a fool of both myself and you by ordering something outlandish and then offering to put it on my non-existant tab, which the bartender will turn down, and you will end up paying for the drink anyway'." Charles snapped, slamming down his glass of cognac that some fool had mixed with soda and poured over ice.

Max sighed, perched atop the piano, his legs delicately crossed.

"I admit it, sir. I was a fool. But look on the bright side, you've got a 50 dollar credit for the next time you come!"

"That is because the uneducated swine behind the bar couldn't break a fifty." "Break it? Hell, Igor'd need a week just to figure out how much change you were supposed to get back for a two dollar drink." Charles grunted with annoyance and slid the glass across the table in disgust.

"Swill."

Max nodded, pulling up his hose.

"We could always go to Rosie's. They don't know me as well there, and if we get really rowdy, they might throw us out and we won't have to pay."

"Thank you, no." Charles snorted. "I've had quite enough of this. Please, feel free to finish... whatever this is."

"What? You're not leaving, are you?" Max exclaimed.

"Klinger, as difficult as this may be for you to understand... yes."

Max leapt off the piano and grabbed Charles' arm as he rose up from his seat.

"No, sir, please. Don't go! I offended you, didn't I? Please, don't go. Come on."

"Take your hand off of me, you... painted simian." Charles growled.

Max's jaw dropped and he pulled his hand back.

"Why, I... how dare... I NEVER--" He stammered.

"Klinger, PLEASE." Charles cried, holding his temples. "Your voice is enough to keep mosquitoes away."

"I resent that! My mother used to say I had the voice of an angel. So did LaVerne. She's my WIFE."

Charles found himself raising an eyebrow.

"You found a woman that was willing to marry you?" he asked bluntly.  
"Not just any woman, Major. A goddess living among mortal men. Put a frying pan in her hand and she'd cook dinner AND wash the clothes in it, without even getting the pan dirty."

"How... fortunate for you."

"It's going on two years now, since I saw her last. She said she was gonna cut her hair... but I bet she didn't. I bet it's to the middle of her back now. At least... I kinda hope it is. You never saw hair like hers. Are you married?"

Charles favored him with a tiny smile.

"My career as a surgeon has occupied the majority of my time."

Max smiled, and the word "BINGO" popped into his head.

"Did you live by yourself?" He asked, seeping gentleness.

"Certainly not. The Winchesters own several houses, on two continents."

"Yeah? I've lived in ten houses. Just not all at the same time. And all in Toledo. Laverne, right now, we have a little duplex right by the old packing district. It's supposed to be yellow, but there's so much smog that it looks gray." Max said, eyes half-closed as he recollected his home.

Charles' eyes darted over to the glass of watery cognac, and Max sighed, sitting down on the table.

"She wrote me, saying that the Mortersons were moving out. They were a couple of drunk eighty-year olds who lived in the duplex with us. I guess in their place, we're getting a lady with about 8 kids. I know what that's like, anyway. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Major?"

"Honoria." Charles answered curtly, leaning toward the table. Max reached behind and handed him his drink.

"Oh, yeah. What's she do?"

"She does not 'do' anything."

"You must be so proud."

Charles raised an eyebrow at Max's sudden interest in his personal life, but after a sip of the fizzy yet runny liquid, he grimaced and all but threw it back at him.

"No good, huh?" Max asked, swishing it in the glass. He took a sniff, then shrugged. "Smells okay."

"It is far from 'okay'. Nothing about this hellhole is 'okay', least of all that."

"I couldn't agree more." Max exclaimed, throwing it behind his shoulder. Charles gaped and cringed as the glass hit a table leg and shattered.

Behind the bar, Igor looked up from sweeping and frowned.

"Hey, what's goin' on, here? You're gonna have to pay for that glass, you know!" Igor yelled.

"Put it on my tab! I'm sick of this place, I'm goin' home!" Max said dramatically. "Major, the things I could tell you... about my family, my wife, my... tragic childhood. But I get the feeling... that I don't have to. You know what I mean. Dare I say it, you... understand me."

"I... what?" Charles asked, clearly repulsed.

"I feel... like I could tell you anything."

"You most certainly can not."

"You're right, Major. Because I don't have to. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for someone like you to come along? I think you know me better than... oh, Major... dare I even think it... than my darling wife, LaVerne."

Max sighed, looking at his lap demurely. He was glad he'd gone for the third coat of mascara.

Charles, meanwhile, was staring at him with a look that Max was pleased as punch to see.

He thought Max was an absolute lunatic.

"Major, the life... the life you've chosen to lead, the life that stole from you the simple pleasures of life... a wife, children, making your own way... I didn't choose that life. I wanted to be free, forever... but now, I realize..." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "That... if I'd had my own way, it would have never brought me to you. Oh, Major... may I call you Charles?"

Charles replied by turning around and all but running out the door.

"Oh, what have I said?" Max asked, voice rising. "Don't leave me! Not now that I know what we have! Hey, Igor, how'm I doing?"

Igor graced him with a half-smile.

"I gotta hand it to you, you sure can pick 'em. And when you get back, you sure can pick up the broken glass."

Max tossed his head.

"Bad news. I ain't comin' back! This is it, baby!"

"Yeah, I'll leave the broom by the door."

With a scowl, Max slid off the table and click-clacked out the door. Once again, he was in pursuit of Charles, and this time, he wouldn't wait until they were in the privacy of The Swamp.

If Frank Burns could get sent home for accosting a superior officer, by god, so could Max Klinger.

"MAJOR!" He cried, his heart in his ears. The exhilaration made him want to cry with sheer ecstasy.

Charles picked up the pace, and people were starting to look. Max sped up as well, and before long, he was able to make his move.

With antelope-like physical prowess, he took a flying leap and tackled Charles. They both landed on the ground, and a group of people suddenly took great interest in the scene.

Charles screamed and tried to pull himself away, but Max had sprawled over him as if he were a mattress.

"You- You... fatuous, capricious... you... incommodious... you--" Charles was sputtering.

"Oh, Major, the way you flatter me! Look at me, oh, my dear depilated Adonis!" Max screamed. "Run away with me. We'll leave it all behind, find a little cottage somewhere and wait until the war's over. Think of it! Just you, and me..."

The crowd was growing; giggling nurses and enlisted men staring with fascination.

"Don't just stand there, you fools! Call the MPs!" Charles yelped.

"Too late! By the time they arrive, we'll be halfway to Toledo!"

"Toledo?!"

"Or Boston, wherever. I'll hitchhike the rest of the way."

"You flighty decrepit! How DARE you use me as a pawn in one of your section 8 stunts!" Charles snapped.

"Section 8? Major, I wouldn't DREAM of it! I owe the army my very happiness! If I'd never come to Korea, I'd have never met you! Oh, look at me, my darling! Kiss me!"

The crowd was chattering with amused comments, and Charles let out an infuriated roar and managed to slide out from under Max's weight. He was favored with applause.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Max cried, grabbing Charles' leg. "I've bared my very soul to you!"

Charles gave the crowd an indulgent smile, bowing his head slightly.

"Please, forgive me. It would seem that I'm having a bit of difficulty ambulating. Would one of you fine people be so kind as to fetch the colonel for me?"

The people looked at each other, murmuring comments. Finally one of the nurses took it upon herself to skitter off.

"Thank you, my dear." Charles said politely, every so often kicking at Max with his other leg.

"I don't understand what went wrong. Didn't we almost have it all, sir?" Max said mournfully.

"Ah, yes, Corporal. The best laid plans of mice, men, and Lebanese transvestites..."

"So you don't think I'm crazy enough to warrant a call to one of your influential buddies?"

"For what purpose, pray tell?"

"Tell them to send me home in a straitjacket...?"

"Corporal, if I, in all my surgical and human splendor, must remain in this festering pit, so too must you."

"I'll make your life a living hell." Max cheerfully offered.

"You're a bit too late."

"Boy, you stink." Max conceded, letting go and getting to his feet. "I'll have you know I can have any man in this camp! And for the record, I turned YOU down. Don't come crawling back to me, begging to have me back. And whatEVER you do, don't do it without five hundred dollars in small, unmarked bills."

"Ah, yes, 'wink, wink', as it were."

"Hmph!" Max spun around and stormed off, leaving Charles standing there, vaguely puzzled, rather dusty and a bit stunned.

"What an absurd creature." He said to himself.

* * *

September 25, 1952

7:17 a.m.

"It's fine, it's fine!" Max yelled over the sound of rushing water pouring over his head.

"Are you certain?!" Charles called back worriedly.

"It's water! It's hot! It's wet! What more do you need?" Max shut off the faucet, shivering. "Just use this one!"

"Max, naivete is only endearing up to a point. Move on to the next one."

Max swiped his hand across his eyes and then blinked in disbelief, staring at Charles over the shower wall.

"The NEXT one?! What's wrong with this one?"

"Clearly, it APPEARS not to have been tampered with, but you must remember that if Pierce and Hunnicutt are anything, they are patient. Sabotage may not be immediately apparent. The next one, Max. The next one!"

"Major, I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm naked, and I'm beginning to get annoyed."

"Please, Max. The next one."

"I'm putting in my two-week notice."

"The NEXT ONE."

Max shot daggers at the paranoid major, then sighed, pushed the door open and slunk into the next stall. He turned the faucet and rolled his eyes.

"There's no difference, Major." He sang.

"It looks steamier. There's more steam coming from that one."

"So what?!"

Charles hesitated a second, then walked over, putting his hand under the stream of water. Max yelped and jumped back.

"Hmm."

"Ex-CUSE me, Major, but do you MIND?"

"What? Oh, no. Not at all. I shall use this one."

"Why? What's so great about this one? Why don't you use the other one?"

"Why are you so insistent that I use the OTHER one?"

"I'm not! But there's no difference!"

"I SEE. Well, then, Corporal, we'll just do it your way then. I'll just USE the other one."

"Fine. Use it."

"Oh-HO! You'd like that, wouldn't you? Not a chance. Get out."

"For crying out loud!" Max screamed. "Turn around. I didn't even bring my stupid robe, Major."

"Neither did I."

Max snorted, shut the water off and hesitated a second. Charles was fully clothed, of course, turned in the other direction and impatiently shifting back and forth.

"It's freezing." Max muttered.

"Are you finished yet?"

"NO, I'm not finished yet! Are your eyes shut?"

"Yes, they're shut!"

Max put out his lower lip, then flung the door open and ran like hell over to where he'd put his clothes.

"Fine, go ahead."

Charles opened his eyes and frowned.

"Aren't you going to bathe?"

For some reason, perhaps the combination of leaning, naked, over yesterday's clothes and the cold, as well as everything else, Max felt his cheeks flaring up with embarrassment.

"Not while YOU'RE here!" He squeaked.

"Well, you're not LEAVING!" Charles exclaimed, as if that were self-evident.

"Like hell!"

"Max, you are not going to leave me here, alone. Pierce and Hunnicutt could show up at any moment."

"Oh, that DOES IT!" Max screamed, forgetting all about his clothing, the cold... and everything else. "THAT DOES IT! I can't believe you, Major! I mean, this... it just... I can't BELIEVE you! After everything I've done for you... you just... you don't know when to quit, do you?! Oh, boy, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

Charles rolled his eyes. After the previous night's outburst, he was inclined to believe that this, like the one before it, would pass almost immediately.

"I've got a good mind to... ohh, you know what I'm gonna do?"

"Max, come now... settle down."

"Not until you give me your clothes!"

"My... what?"

"GIVE 'EM TO ME! And... and I'll take your other ones, and mine... and... AND I'LL TAKE THEM TO HAWKEYE AND BJ!"

"Max, you cannot be serious. You are completely... au naturel."

"That's never stopped me yet!"

"And I am not."

"You're GONNA be!" Max roared, throwing the clothes he'd been holding to the ground. With fire in his eyes, anger in his heart, frustration, humiliation and fatigue rushing through his veins, he began to run.

Charles' eyes widened, and he prepared to run, himself, but he wasn't able to make his legs move.

As it turned out, that was probably for the best.

Max rounded the corner, but in his rage, he forgot that he was rather wet, and he'd left a puddle on the floor. As soon as his foot touched the wet floor, he felt his heart in his throat and he let out a panicked yelp.

He skidded for a second, then lost traction and felt himself going airborne.

The only thought going through his head, besides the words "Oh my god" ad infinitum, was a horribly embarrassing image of himself, bleeding profusely and having to be carried away by someone, all the while completely naked.

However, as he prepared to fall and either crack his head or whatever appendage happened to be handy open, he suddenly felt not the stinging, cold and wet slap of the floor, but instead a pair of strangely warm hands on his arms.

Looking up in disbelief, he saw that he was leaning on the balls of his feet, at a dangerous angle, and Charles had caught him, but now held him at arms' length with a half-disgusted, half-relieved expression on his face.

"M...Major." Max said, his mouth dry and his eyes wide.

"Well. That was... close." Charles said pointlessly. He took great pains not to look down.

"It... it sure was. Uh..." Max coughed, then used Charles' hands to steady himself. When he'd done so, neither of them were able to speak, or even think coherently.

The moment was terribly awkward, both of them looking a different direction.

Charles suddenly felt his face cracking, and he stifled a laugh. Max looked up at him in surprise.

"Please, don't think anything of this..." Charles managed to say, covering his mouth with his hand. "But to deny the humor of this situation would be to deny the very essence of it."

"I guess it would. I mean, hey. I have no clothes on!" Max said cheerfully.

"And you thought you'd somehow get mine and make off with them like a common bandit. It would seem that the moment your clothing is shed, your common sense goes with it."

"Hey... I was really mad at you, you know." Max said, looking down with embarrassment.

"I believe... I deserved your anger. I have behaved like a brute, truly. My behavior last night was simply abominable. Please... forgive me."

The simple admission struck Max deeply, and he knew that it couldn't have meant more even if it had been screamed by a bleeding man on his deathbed. He felt his ears reddening.

"Major, come on... what kinda guy would I be to hold a grudge after... I mean..." He looked down at the hard floor underfoot.

"Well, I... I suppose that's true." Charles agreed.

"That was one hell of a catch."

"Well, Max..."

"That is to say... that coulda hurt. A lot."

"Certainly."

"Oh, god. You..."

"Max..."

"You saved my life." Max finished, a little too dramatically. He didn't even know if it was true, but he was so swept up in the moment that anything was possible.

Charles smiled, looking terribly pleased with himself.

"Oh, Max..." he sighed, putting his hand on Max's shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"May I PLEASE take my shower now?"

"Knock yourself out, sir. I'm not going anywhere until the world stops spinning."

* * *

April 7, 1952

Her dress.

Her purple flowered dress, the one with the butterflies on it. Crumpled, almost looking like a faded, dead flower at the bottom of his footlocker.

It didn't fit him. It never did, and he never tried to squeeze into it. Despite its thin, moth-eaten texture and unflattering style, that dress was possibly the only item he owned that he never even took out for fear of doing something bad to it, somehow.

He treated that dress like it was made of eggshells.

As it turned out, it may as well have been.

LaVerne had left him.

Oh, he'd heard about it. He heard about it all the time, from other people. People he didn't know, young guys, old guys, it even happened to women. Nurses.

But not him. Not Max. It couldn't happen to him.

She didn't write, but that meant she was busy. She didn't write, but she thought about him all the same. It had been almost 3 months since she'd written, but she was just... she had things to do. Important things.

More important than writing to her husband in Korea.

But he tried to understand. He made himself smile at the picture of her, at her last letter that seemed to say so much, even though all she really talked about was the lousy way the cost to ride the bus had gone up a nickel. Her letters had always said more than they asked, and he always liked it that way. A letter full of lamentations or questions about his life would have seemed uncomfortable. He wanted to know what was going on in Toledo. He wanted to escape, if even for a little bit.

And now, he thought as he reached in and pulled out the dress, he had nowhere to escape to.

The dress smelled like mildew. He held it out and looked at it with a dead expression. The buttons always looked to him like candy; little white balls with spirals etched into them. Now the dress was missing 2 of them.

LaVerne had given it to him without his knowledge, and the day he found it, stowed at the bottom of a tacky blue suitcase, with a picture in the pocket of the two of them. It was her favorite dress through high school; she'd gotten it when she was fourteen or fifteen, and the day she wasn't able to fit into it anymore, she'd thrown a terribly Scarlett O'Hara-like fit and thrown it out the window. Max had found it when he got home from whatever job he'd been working at the time and brought it upstairs.

After convincing LaVerne that no, she wasn't fat, and yes, she was still the most beautiful girl in the world, and telling her that the dumb dress must have shrunk somehow, you know how those new clothes washers are, he never thought of the dress again until he saw it packed in with his stuff.

The picture wasn't there anymore, and there was a strange blue stain along the hem.

What was he doing with a dress like that now? What was he doing with ANY dresses now? What was the point of being pretty, accessorizing, looking crazy, now that he had nothing to go home to?

Oh, sure. There was Toledo. The entire city was his playground. He had his family, and his friends...

But he had no home anymore. No home, not a thing to call his own, except for what he kept in the tiny cloth tent he hated with his entire being. Here. In Korea. His heart was in Toledo, but it stopped beating, and even if he'd gotten home in time, it had been labelled DNR.

He realized, as a chill went through him, that as far as he could see, his home was the 4077. Here. The shelling, the angry people, the death, the blood... it was all he had now.

It was a horribly, horribly sick feeling.

"It's funny. To think, I used to envy the guys who weren't married." He said to himself. Although the Officers Club was rather full for a Wednesday night, he'd purposely chosen an empty table, far away from the action. To add insult to injury, he was also dressed in fatigues. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to put on a skirt. Even the black faux silk gave him a queasy feeling, and at a time like this, the last thing he needed was to feel the strangely vulnerable sensation of breeze between his legs.

He drank.

He drank like a man.

It made him want to scream.

How many drinks, he didn't know. Where they came from, he didn't care.

"You gonna finish that?" He found himself yelling. He wasn't yelling to anybody. He was yelling to everybody.

He went unheard.

He slept.

"Listen, you gotta get up." Igor was saying worriedly, shaking Max's shoulder roughly. "Come on."

"Mmmmnn... whatdyawant... lee me alone..." Max mumbled, his face stuck to the table.

"Come on! You've been here all night. I'll... I'll even forget the money you owe for the drinks. You're in bad shape."

"What... you tellin me I gotta... I gotta go home?"

"I don't care WHERE you go. I really don't. But I need to close up." Igor said, almost plaintively. "Come on, go lie down. You look horrible."

"It's cause... I ain't got a dress on." Max slurred, as Igor pulled his chair out. "You ain't... used to seein' me dressed like a soldier."

He eventually stumbled to his feet, but immediately wished he hadn't, as he was overcome with dizziness and a wave of nausea.

Igor noticed his eyes glazing over and the color draining from his face, and quickly slid the chair back underneath him and pushed him back onto it.

"Jeez! Look atcha! Just look atcha. Oh boy, you better..."

"I ain't so very drunk, Melly." Max snickered, leaning so far back in the chair he nearly knocked it over. Startled, he jumped, and the chair scraped against the floor, leaving prominent scratches.

"Hey! I just waxed that floor yesterday! Couldja be a little more careful?!" Igor cried.

"I didn't do nothin' to yer stupid floor." Max spat bitterly.

"You sure did!"

"Boy, you're somethin. You sure are somethin. Here I am and... I'm... an' all you can do is rag about your damn floor." Max was slurring something fierce, his eyes unfocusing. Another wave of dizziness, and he moaned, bending over.

"Look, I got kitchen duty in a coupla hours, and I was thinkin' seriously about maybe sleeping a little before I gotta get up."

"Big damn deal--" Max began, when all of a sudden he found himself retching rather painfully on the floor, feeling strangely as if his eyes were going to pop out from the violent hacking.

Igor cried out and jumped back in disgust.

"Awwww! No! Don't do that in here!"

"Ohhh GOD..." He managed to spit out between gasps for air. "Oh, god, I'm gonna..."

"Okay, okay... oh boy. Get up... now, come on. You gotta get up now, and go to... to the latrine." Igor said. "Come on... oh, come on."

He managed to pull the increasingly weak Max to his feet, and sort of dragged him out the door.

"You're one... a hell of a guy, Igor. You're... boy, you sure are. You ain't like she is. You're willing to help a fella out."

"Sure. Sure I am."

"See, you ain't like she is. You ain't like no one else here is. Oh boy, stop a second." Max said, bending over.

Igor stood back and turned his head away. When Max had finished being sick, they continued walking like nothing had happened.

"See, this place... this place'd fall apart if there wasn't no booze. But without booze... I mean, there'd be no you. And that'd sure be bad. Can you see any of the rest of these guys doin' this?" Max laughed.

"I dunno. Listen, here..." Igor said dismissively, pulling the door to the latrine open. "I don't want to see you comin' back. You're gonna be sick for a long time. Boy, you're positively green. How many'd you have, anyway?"

"Not enough. Why, where're you going?"

"I gotta go clean up!"

"You gonna comin'... back?"

"Not with you sick like this. Listen, just... go right to bed. You know where that is, right?"

"I know where lotsa beds are. There're beds all over the place. All over."

"Well, find one, and just... take it easy."

"You really know how to help a guy out. Boy, you sure do."

"Okay. Just take it easy. Really. You look horrible!"

Igor gave Max an uncomfortable smile and quickly left, before he could be recruited to perform some sort of disgusting and degrading task. He closed the latrine door and trotted out into the cool evening.

"I look horrible. I look horrible, he says. Just bet I do." Max said rather loudly, standing in the middle of the shed-sized structure on unsteady feet. "Just bet I do. How'd he know, anyway? Bet... bet he's never seen... a guy, looks as miserable as me."

He sighed shakily, sitting down on the dirty floor without a thought for the welfare of his pants, and put his head down on the seat, whimpering.

"Baby... oh, baby, if you could see me now. Look at me, LaVerne. Look at me... look at what you did to me. I'm broken. I'll never get over you. Never... god, look at me."

He dissolved into half-sobs, finding that no matter how much air he took in, there wasn't enough for the next breath.

"How couldja DO it?! How couldja do it, knowing that I'm here... an... and I can't... I can't..." He began hyperventilating, which led to a coughing fit that nearly paralyzed him with pain. Every breath he could get, he used up with cries of misery, until he felt his throat filling with bile and he made full use of the facilities before him.

It was a good minute before he could speak again.

"What's... what's the matter with you?! You... you... bitch." He spat out the word 'bitch' slowly, reluctantly, and tears poured out as he said it. "I'd'a... I'd'a stayed true to you forever. Forever. What's the matter with ya... I'd'a... I'd'a come home to ya. I'd'a come..."

His words went completely unheard.

* * *

September 25, 1952

8:00 a.m.

"Sorry, I didn't hear ya." Igor said, smacking his ear with his left hand. "Some jackass messed with the showers this morning. Turned the water pressure up all the way, and it all went in the old ear. Boy, I'd sure like to get my hands on whoever did that."

Max nodded dismissively and pointed to a dark red pile of something.

"I said, WHAT'S THAT STUFF?"

"That? Specialty of the house, pal. Cinnamon marmalade."

"You gotta be kiddin' me."

"What's to kid? Hey, Cap'ns!" Igor said brightly. "How'd you like a little slice of heaven?"

Max turned around and found himself face to face with a skeptical-looking BJ, who gave the "marmalade" a quick glance and shook his head.

"I don't think so, Igor. It's too early in the morning for raw cow brain. Thanks anyway."

"You just so happen to be looking at my Grandma Filly's prize-winning cinnamon marmalade. She sent me a batch of it to brighten things up around here. I mentioned how you wiseguys always have smart remarks to make about the food, and she guaranteed that one spoonful of this stuff would change your tune for good."

Igor beamed and held up the jar that it had come in.

"Filly's feedbag." Hawkeye read. "That's cute."

"Yeah, Grandma's a card. Fill 'er up?"

Hawkeye and BJ looked at each other for a moment.

"What do ya think?" Hawk asked.

"Real apricots that were grown within the last decade? It's a trick." BJ said immediately. "Igor, be honest. This isn't yesterday's sausage mixed with sugar, is it?"

"I resent that, Captain, and so would Grandma Filly if she were here. Now, I know what you're thinking; cinnamon and apricots don't exactly mix."

"Neither does rubbing alcohol and melted chocolate, but that didn't stop us last night. Come on, Beej. It can't be any worse than the french toast." Hawkeye sighed.

"Now, THAT isn't funny." BJ groaned, holding out his tray. Igor happily dished up a pile of cinnamon marmalade, then threw 2 pieces of soggy blackish toast next to it.

"They go great together." Igor explained. "Kinda mush up the toast in the marmalade. It's fantastic. I mean, hey, that's how it all ends up anyway, right?"

"Is that how it works? It's been so long since my stomach's actually performed its proper task, I forgot." Hawkeye said, grimacing at the sight of the toast. "None for me, thanks. I'm on a diet."

"Oh, no you don't. If I gotta eat this stuff, so do you." BJ cried.

"Not a chance. That color doesn't even appear in nature."

"Oh, yeah. The bread's powdered. Grandma sent a loaf of her famous pumpernickel cinnamon cheese rye, but I scarfed that down last night." Igor said apologetically.

Colonel Potter appeared behind them, holding a tray and surveying the offerings.

"Morning, boys. That's not yesterday's sausage, is it? I don't like to speak ill of a lesser creature, but I think that pig was older than I am."

"This isn't no sausage, Colonel. It's my Grandma Filly's famous cinnamon marmalade." Igor said proudly.

"You don't say? Real fruit, the whole nine yards?"

"Grandma Filly doesn't use canned."

"Bless her heart. My Mildred's the same way. If it came in a can, she says, it means no one bought it at the farmer's market, and it ain't worth serving."

"You know, she's right. I don't think I've ever heard of botchelism being sold at a farmer's market." BJ mused.

"I'll take a tad, son." Potter said to Igor, who plopped a heaping portion on the tray. "Your grandma's an inventive one. I've never heard of marmalade with cinnamon in it."

"Oh, the recipe goes back 50 years. When my great grandparents came to America, they got robbed, taken for everything they had. The next morning, all they had to put on their breadcrusts was ground up cinnamon and the lady next door's marmalade. It's a real tradition in our family."

"They sound like good people. Tell Grandma Filly I sure appreciate it. Brings a little cheer to my sunny-side downs."

"Oh, you bet I will!" Igor called after him, then looked back at Hawkeye.

"Colonel's pet." Hawk muttered, taking the powdered toast. "But I'm warning you, if this tastes even the least bit like real bread, I'll cry."

Potter stopped for a second to get a cup of coffee, and he noticed Max, sighing at the meager amount of potentially edible food he'd accumulated on his tray.

"Morning, son. You look like you fell out of the tired tree and hit every branch on the way down."

Max sighed. Potter was the only one in camp who knew that Charles had spent the night with him, and he felt that he could be frank about it.

"Let's just say I've had better nights."

"Strange bedfellow not behaving like a guest?"

"And then some. My bed's broken."

"Broken?" Hawkeye was suddenly saying. Max jumped in shock. "Klinger, you animal."

"I knew it wouldn't be big enough for the two of you. One of you should have sucked it up and stayed in the VIP tent. As long as it doesn't become a habit, there's nothing wrong with using it for one night." Potter said.

"Oh, gee. Thanks." Max muttered, quietly seething.

Potter walked away, and Hawkeye frowned and leaned in conspiratorially.

"Now, er-hem, Klinger. I've been on the wagon, so to speak, for a while... at least as far as... interpersonal relations are concerned... but if I remember correctly, and I think I do... if you were to entertain a lady friend, wouldn't it be rather difficult to do so if you're in separate tents?" He asked.

"Lady... friend?" Max asked, momentarily confused. "OH! Lady... FRIEND. Oh, well... yeah, it turned out we didn't have that much in common after all."

"Language barrier?" BJ asked sympathetically.

"Please, she speaks better English than I do. Nah, we just... didn't click."

"You clicked enough to break your bed." Hawk reminded him. "Or, uh... so I hear."

"That wasn't clicking." Max said uncomfortably.

"THAT wasn't clicking?"

"Look, I pitched a no-clicker, allright?" Max cried as they sat down at their usual table. Charles and Margaret were already there, and Charles coughed rather loudly in Max's direction, gesturing for him to sit next to him.

"Well, you may have been the only one. Charles, you never came home last night." BJ said with amusement. "You sure missed a lot of fun."

Charles was too busy watching Max sit down, cringing involuntarily as he anticipated something horrible. When he was finally satisfied that all was well, he turned to BJ with a smile.

"Oh, I'm... sure I did. Gee, I... I was just... so busy I hardly noticed the time."

"Ah, to be young and single again, without a care in the world." Hawk sighed. "Yeah, well, the old ball and chain and I didn't miss you one bit. Did we?"

"I didn't even notice he was gone... although I think his bed knows. It's positively pink with envy."

"You two..." Margaret snapped, putting down her fork. "Just once, couldn't you find it within yourselves to act like adults at the table? And MAJOR, would you please move over? I can't feel my leg!"

Charles quickly slid down, practically steamrolling Max in the process.

"Hey, we kept it strictly professional, didn't we?" Hawk asked.

"Absolutely. It was the most mature pillow fight you've ever seen. Oh, Charles, I hope you don't mind... uh... your pillow's a little flat. But, don't worry, we pinned it back up. Kinda."

"You swine." Charles growled, eating off of Max's tray.

"And boy, let me tell you, those pillows sure don't hold up very well. One or two really good smacks and they bust open like eggshells." Hawk said.

"Sounds like you guys are gonna need some new bedding supplies." Max said hopefully. "I-Corps isn't very good about stuff like that, but since you guys are officers"  
"Officer-schmofficer." Margaret scoffed. "No one will replace pillows that were destroyed by a couple of bored hooligans."

"I see." Max darkened, giving Charles a furious glare.

"Boy, we must have been up all night cleaning up those feathers. We considered putting them in Charles' pants, but why should we let him have all the fun?" Hawk said.

"I loathe you." Charles muttered.

"Yeah, and I discovered one hell of a way to get Hawk to do what you want." BJ said.

"Ah... no, Beej. You're not gonna tell them that part." Hawk whispered.

"Why not? I think it's a scream."

"You know, I... I seem to be having a bit of difficulty finishing my meal." Charles said suddenly, getting up and picking up both his tray and Max's. "How... very unusual. Gentlemen, Margaret."

"Hey, where're you goin' with my stuff?" Max exclaimed.

"OUT."

"That's my stuff!"

"Come ON."

Margaret frowned after them, then turned back to Hawkeye and BJ with an exasperated look.

"That poor man's positively shaking. What have you done to him?" She asked.

"Us? Not a thing. His date must not have gone so well." Hawk said innocently.

"Oh, come on. You two know as well as I do that when you two get bored, you start acting dumb, and someone else always has to be responsible for the damage you cause."

"What damage? His sheets will fade with time." BJ said, pulling something out of his pocket. "Anyway, you wanna see something hilarious?"

"Not really." Margaret sighed.

"Oh, come on. This is just great. See this? Just an ordinary feather, right?"

"You keep that thing away from me, you sadist!" Hawk exclaimed.

"We were cleaning up the feathers, and one of them flew in his ear, right? And he just SCREAMED. From the way he carried on, you'd think he'd been shot or something." BJ grinned.

"I have very sensitive ears."

"Watch this, just watch this." BJ told Margaret, then proceeded to lightly stroke Hawk's ear with the feather, which prompted a high-pitched scream.

"KNOCK IT OFF!" Hawk screeched, batting at the feather with both hands.

"I think Charles had the right idea." Margaret sighed, shaking her head and picking up her tray.

"Hey, come on. Isn't this great?"

"GIMME THAT DAMN THING! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Hawk yelled.

"You're gonna whaaaat?" BJ smirked.

"My god, I don't think I can finish this." Margaret realized, walking away.

"STOP IT! KNOCK IT OFF! UNCLE!" Hawk howled.

Max crossed his arms as Charles hastily dumped the contents of his tray in the garbage. He barely had time to snatch his piece of black toast off his own tray before that went, as well.

"Major, I think I've come to a realization. You want me dead, don't you? You deny me sleep, you deny me food... you want me dead." He said. "You wanna just be able to carry me around like a big dummy, stuff food down my throat to make sure it's not poison, put me down on chairs to make sure they don't collapse or blow up, throw me in the shower to make sure the water's not too hot..."

"Please... Max, please. I could not listen to them another moment. The way they... they keep after each other... it's simply disgusting. They act like giddy grammar school children with crushes on one another."

"Crushes? Eh, they're just bored."

"No, Max. They are not bored. They are infatuated with each other. I can think of no other explanation. Between pillow fights, spin the bottle and their unabashedly flighty mannerisms, it's a wonder that they haven't yet made a public declaration of their love for each other and ridden off in a jeep with 'just married' written on the back."

"Hey, you never met Trapper John. Boy, you think these guys are bad, you shoulda seen the kind of stuff HE did with Hawkeye. They looked so crazy I never had a chance."

"You... don't say." Charles said, suddenly interested.

"Oh, you kiddin' me? Oh, sure, they threw themselves at women all the time, but when they weren't... hey, why am I telling you this stuff?"

"No reason, my dear Max." Charles said kindly.

"Uh oh."

"Mmmm, yes. 'Uh-oh' indeed. Now, Max, tell me... you're a man of the world, are you not?"

"Depends on what you mean by that."

"Well, what I... mean, of course, is... you come from a family that... has experienced things that mine has not."

"Oh, boy. You want me to do something illegal, don't you."

"Max, lower your voice. Not illegal... just..."

"Just not exactly legal."

"If I were to... say, provide you with a sample of one's... distinct handwriting..."

"Major, major, major. How do you think I got through 10 years of public school without even the slightest disciplinary action having been taken against me? But I gotta warn ya, I don't do discharge papers. Tried that once, maybe you recall."

"Of course I don't."

"Right. What do you have in mind?" Max asked warily.

"Revenge, of course."

"So I'm back in on that?"

"Max, you were never out!"

"Of course not. And what if I should decide that I don't want anything to do with your blood feud?"

Charles sighed with exasperation.

"We already discussed this! Now, either you're in, or you're out! I can do it without you, and I will, should the need arise."

"Fine. I'm out. I've had it." Max said, throwing up his hands.

"You cannot, and you WILL not!" Charles exclaimed. "Max, I... I need you. We need each other!"

"Oh, Major, you're so beautiful when you're desperate."

"You forget... without me, you would... you would have faced humiliation of the highest caliber! Perhaps even death."

"Yeah, and without you, I'd also be just now waking up from a great night's sleep on my comfy bed, MEI PING."

"What will it take to convince you? Victory, Max! Pure, raw victory. Not a moral victory, surely, but a victory nonetheless, and one to be proud of! One for the books! Max, to pull this off would be... dare I say it, on par with... the defeat of Biff Fatone."

Max narrowed his eyes and took a bite out of his toast.

"You must have one hell of an idea, Major."

"Indeed, I do."

"Now, listen. You will never, ever, EVER spend another night in my office. If you so much as look at my bed again, you'll regret it. I will also never EVER take another shower with you, no matter what the circumstances. And also, the next time you want a 3-day pass, I don't care what reason you have, I'm getting one, too." Max said.

"Done! I'd sooner die than..."

"And ALSO, Major... as soon as you're back on living terms with Hawkeye and BJ, I want your mattress."

Charles' eyes widened with shock and disgust.

"M...MINE?!"

"An eye for an eye, Major. There are four beds in there, anyway... you can just take the spare." "Crafty little pygmy." Charles said through gritted teeth.

"If you're willing to do all that, then what the hey. I suppose I can find time to forge some signatures."

"Oh, no signatures. Not yet."

"What, then?"

"Why, a simple little love note."

Max frowned.

"Love note?"

"Yes. From Hunnicutt... to Pierce."

* * *

April 8, 1952

9:13 a.m.

"You gonna be in there all day?!" an ornery private yelled through the closed latrine door. "You ain't the only guy in the camp, mac! Hurry it up!"

Radar yawned, resigning himself to the fact that there was a line for the facilities. There often was, immediately after breakfast, so he found nothing unusual about it.

Breakfast that morning had been especially brutal, so he also felt little surprise when he heard the occupant of the latrine spilling his guts in an unabashed fashion.

The private in line ahead of him shifted anxiously from foot to foot, sighing with exasperation.

"Boy, uh... sounds like someone didn't like the creamed eggs." Radar said, laughing a little to make conversation.

"Oh, god. Don't even talk about that. Jeez, though, buddy's been in there forever!"

"Oh yeah? Oh... uh... boy, I shouldn't ask this... but... do you know who's in there?"

"Not a clue. The door was shut when I got here, and I was the first one out of the mess tent. I mean, I ran. Had to run, you know what I mean?"

"Do I ever."

"Yeah. HEY! You still alive in there?" He pounded on the door, shaking the whole structure.

He got no response, but at that moment the door to the other latrine opened, and without hesitating a moment, the impatient private ran over and slammed the door behind him, leaving Radar alone.

"Uh... oh, boy. Uh..." Radar said uncomfortably. He took a step forward and coughed, rather loudly. "Uh... hey, everything okay?"

He heard nothing, then lightly tapped on the door.

"Oh, hey... listen... I'm not in any real big hurry, y'know, but, boy, you sound awful sick. I... uh... mean, I guess it's none of my business what you do... when you're doing your business, but... boy, you sound awful."

He heard the occupant breathing heavily, then moaning.

"The bathroom's still full?" An impatient voice asked from behind him.

Radar turned around and saw Igor standing behind him, tapping his foot.

"Oh... boy, yeah. Someone's in there, and he sounds real sick."

"Hey, that's funny." Igor said.

"What is?"

"Well, gee, this is the same stall Klinger came to this morning when he was throwing up. I had to help him out of the O Club. Poor guy was so out of it he barely knew where he was."

"Really? When was that?"

"I dunno, about 2:30 this morning."

They stared at each other for a second, then both turned to the door, eyes wide.

From inside the stall, they suddenly heard a voice that was very obviously that of Max.

"Oh my GOD, I'm gonna die!" Max was screaming in a hoarse voice.

Radar's eyes widened and he quickly threw open the door, praying that he wouldn't see anything he wasn't supposed to see.

"Klinger!" he cried. Behind him, Igor peered in, stunned.

Max was still sitting on the floor, legs jutting out at opposite angles. His face was strikingly pale, his eyes red, watery and sunken. When he saw Radar, he turned to him with a childlike expression, and tried to smile.

"Hey, kid. Don't worry. I learned my lesson. I'm never gonna drink again." He croaked. "Oh my god, my lungs are coming out my nose..."

Radar stared at him for a moment, then gave a little gasp.

"Igor, wait here. Don't let anyone use the latrine. I'm gonna go get one of the doctors... oh, boy."

Igor started to protest, but Radar was already gone.

"Jeez, Klinger. You been in here all night?" He asked in disbelief.

"All NIGHT? I been in here... for a month." Max groaned.

Radar didn't think to knock, couldn't think to knock. He threw the door to The Swamp open and tossed himself inside gracelessly, panting.

The three doctors were still asleep, more like half-dead after OR the previous night, and Radar hesitated as he tried to decide who to wake up first.

"Sirs? Oh boy, sirs... listen, one of you gotta get up." He said loudly.

Hawkeye opened one eye, scanned the tent, saw Radar, then closed his eye, satisfied that nothing warranted his attention.

BJ gave more of an effort, opening both eyes. He moaned and rolled onto his face.

"Radar, we can't come out and play today." BJ muttered into his pillow.

"Oh, sirs, come on. I know you just got to sleep, but look, this is serious. Klinger got real drunk and he's been throwing up all night. I mean, he looks terrible."

Hawkeye gave a huge yawn, blinking a few times.

"He's drunk... he's hungover and throwing up. I'm waiting for the emergency part."

"No, no... sir, you don't understand. I saw him... in the latrine... and he was... oh, jeez, Sirs, he's wearing fatigues!"

BJ rolled over and gave Hawk a look.

"If he has been at it all night, he's gotta be dehydrated."

Hawk reluctantly pushed himself into a halfway seated position, shaking with the strain it put on his muscles, and sighed, blinking at Radar.

"He's wearing fatigues?"

"Yes, sir! I saw it with my own eyes!"

"I didn't think he could get that drunk."

"Boy, sir. I know." Radar said quietly.

"Beej, old buddy..." Hawk said plaintively, but a humorless half-laugh from BJ stopped him from making any sort of plea.

"Forget it, Hawk."

"Well, that's it. I want a divorce."

"Okie-doke." BJ mumbled into his pillow.

"Well, I won't let your concern hit me on the way out. Come on, Radar, let's go scrape Corporal Crazy off the floor."

"Oh, sir... be nice to him, hey? I mean... you know why this happened." Radar said quietly.

"I sure do. But it sounds better coming from you."

"Oh come on!" Radar exclaimed as Hawk wrestled his weary body out of bed. Lowering his voice, he continued. "It's because of... LaVerne."

"LaVerne? Klinger's LaVerne?"

"Not anymore."

For some reason, at that moment Charles stirred in his bunk, peering at the two with indignant annoyance.

"Have you two inconsiderate clods no regard for the hour?" He snapped wearily. "And what is that... enlisted man doing in here?"

"It's nothing, Charles. Radar's just here so he can carry me to the latrine. He's stronger than he looks."

"Of course. And... ah...what's this I hear about our resident Ernst Rohm no longer being one with... Lenore?"

"LaVerne. Give him a break, Charles." Hawkeye said suddenly, a serious inflection in the words. "The last thing he needs right now is your opinion."

Charles frowned groggily and lay back, rolling so he was facing the wall of the tent.

"...Pity the poor creature. That's all." He murmured. "Even he doesn't deserve that."

Hawkeye had finally gotten so he was standing up, and a strange smile crawled across his face.

"You better be careful, Charles. When you're half-asleep, you could almost be mistaken for a human being."

Charles snorted in reply, and Radar sort of tugged at Hawkeye's sleeve.

"Well, as long as he's not climbing into the cargo compartment of a jet, I suppose I can't complain too much." Potter said, staring blearily into a cup of coffee he'd gotten at breakfast and carried absently around with him in the hour or so since it had ended. "You look terrible, Pierce. Guess I'm not the only one who felt like strangling the rooster this morning."

Radar sort of fidgeted, knowing that he was the 'rooster' to which Potter referred, and he ducked back a few steps, leaving Hawkeye and Potter to stand over the bed they'd put Max in.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Colonel, I love going to bed and waking up in the same breath. Anyway, I probably feel about a hundred times better than him."

"Do... I mean... uh... is he... gonna be okay?" Radar asked.

"He'll feel like hell for a few days, but the saline'll replace the body fluids he lost. He's lucky you came along." Potter said.

"Oh... uh... gee... I mean, I was just... well, y'know."

"Yes, yes... I know, son. But that doesn't much change matters."

"Well... uh... I'm glad I could... help." Radar said, embarrassed. He turned for the door.

"Hey, you're leaving?" Hawkeye asked, amused.

"I just remembered why I was standing in line for the latrine." Radar muttered, leaving.

Hawkeye smiled, shaking his head. Potter gave Max a quick once-over and turned to leave, himself.

"Well, don't let him leave before you make sure that he's in his right head. I say so, simply because the fact that he was wearing fatigues worries me. Could be that he's decided to become a soldier, but more likely, he's taking this a lot harder than we thought." Potter said.

"Right." Hawkeye agreed soberly.

Once Potter had gone, Hawkeye suddenly began to realize how fascinating the inside of his eyelids were becoming to him. With a yawn, he started to walk over to another patient.

The door opened at that moment, and he turned around with disinterest, only to see a rather alert Charles striding in, looking as if he'd had the greatest night's sleep of his life.

"Charles, aren't you supposed to be dead?" Hawkeye asked.

"Ah, Pierce. Well, you look terrible. I suppose it's a good thing I came along when I did."

"Came along when you did to do what?"

"Why, to go on duty. It's nearly seven minutes after the start of my shift. I could be severely reprimanded for that, as I'm sure you must know." Charles said.

"On duty? An hour ago, you were unconscious."

"An hour ago, I was not on duty. You can feel free to go back to The Swamp, laze about like a common oaf..."

"Charles, you mean it? You're taking over for me?" Hawkeye asked.

"No, I am taking over for me. It has nothing to do with you. What is Klinger doing in this bed?" Charles said, all in one breath.

"Severe dehydration. He'd vomited up everything in his stomach except the kitchen sink."

"As a result of what, exactly?"

"Cleaning out the O-Club."

"Irresponsible lout."

"Oh, well, you'll have to forgive him, Charles. He'll need at least another hour to completely forget that his wife ever existed."

Charles paused. "Well. It's hardly a surprise, really. Those... sorts of marriages never last." He said, suddenly.

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes.

"What 'sorts' of marriages are those, Charles? The sorts of marriages where a man and a woman are in love?"

"Well, Pierce... I simply meant..."

"Yeah, I know what you meant, and I resent it. So would Klinger, if he was awake. He and LaVerne had something that I, and I'm sure you'll excuse me when I say, YOU, will probably never have." Hawkeye turned then, and walked out the door.

Charles was stunned at first, then he gradually lapsed into angry, then indignant. Looking at Max's curled-up body under the blanket, he felt a strange stirring of sympathy for him, and quickly turned away, making a borderline-abusive comment to a nurse in an attempt to soothe his wounded pride. It didn't help.

It was several hours before Max woke up, and when he did, he immediately wished he hadn't. The first sensation that he felt was similar to that of a thousand tiny needles being driven into his sinuses. As he grew more alert and took a breath, he became aware of the fact that his lungs rattled, and his throat felt as if it had been cooked over an open flame.

He'd been curled into a fetal position, and as he stretched, he felt every bone in his body cracking and every muscle angrily complied with his request to move for the first time in hours. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

Blinking and looking around, it gradually occurred to him that he was in the Post-Op ward. A quick glance at his arm, and he realized he was hooked up to an IV.

A few beds away, a nurse noticed that he was awake, and she discreetly spoke to Charles, saying something that made him raise both eyebrows.

Max simply sighed, turning his head and biting his pillow. Something had happened, and at the moment, his head hurt far too much to even attempt to remember what it was.

Charles leisurely strolled over to his bed, and gave him an emotionless but still somehow condescending look.

"Well, Klinger. It would appear that you're alive."

"Much to my chagrin." Max groaned. "My eyes feel like they're too big for my skull..."

"Mmm, yes. I suppose that's the very least of your gripes."

"Not really. Aside from the fact that I feel like I've been trampled by wildebeests, I've never felt better."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Why... what'd I do?" Max asked reluctantly.

"Well, I haven't the faintest idea."

"Great. If how I feel is any indication, I probably got hold of a tank and drove it into the Grand Canyon."

"Mmm." Charles said.

"Did I hurt myself?"

"Mmm? Oh, no. It would appear that you are simply dehydrated."

"That's it? Why'm I here, then?"

"Precisely the question I have. Why ARE you here, using up valuable resources, when all you've got wrong with you is the hangover that ate San Fransisco."

Max frowned. "Major, was that a joke?"

"To tell you the truth, Klinger, I am too tired to care. At any rate, you're going to be just fine. Aspirin and rest and you'll be yourself again before you know it."

"Myself again? Ha. That's a laugh." Max said sadly. "I'll never be 'myself again' again."

Charles looked down, visibly closing his mind to the subject at hand. Max noticed it, and felt strangely angry.

"Oh, but forgive me, Major, for troubling you with all my silly problems. When can I get out of here?"

"Not until you're able to. Colonel Potter would also like to speak to you before you're allowed to go back on duty."

"'Allowed'? All I did is get drunk!"

"Klinger, let's... let's not talk about this just now. You need your rest. Come, here... Nurse James thought you might be interested in this."

"Interested in what?" Max asked bitterly.

"Well, it's... some... sort of periodical." Charles said, tossing it on the bed.

Max sullenly picked it up and looked at the cover. A smiling, dark haired lady smiled back at him in a breezy yellow summer dress.

"Oh, very funny, Major." He snapped, throwing the magazine down on the bed. It was just like Charles to mock him when he was at his absolute lowest.

Charles had an expression on his face, however, that was far from mocking. Max sighed and felt that he owed him an explanation.

"Look, I know you're trying to make me feel better, or whatever your equivalent of that is, but I'm not in a real big hurry to get back to Toledo anymore, if you know what I mean. I'm not gonna need this anymore."

"What? You?" Charles asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. Me. What's so unbelievable about that?"

"What's so unbelievable? A mere 24 hours ago you would have willingly cut yourself into pieces, mailed yourself to Toledo and sewed yourself back together again when you passed the city limits sign."

"Yeah. Well, not anymore."

Charles was silent for a moment.

"Well, it's... it's unfortunate. Just from... a brief glance at that cover, it would seem that the ladies in the States are simply dazzling this season."

Max frowned, then picked up the magazine again. The girl, roughly 19 or 20, had the complexion of an angel, sparkling eyes and teeth, and bright red lips. Her dark brown hair was styled in a short, bouncy-looking perm, and a carefree manner that spoke volumes about the state of the nation, even without thousands of its men.

How appropriate, Max thought angrily.

"Yeah, she's somethin'."

"It is rather... discouraging, however, that the young lady has her hair styled that way."

"What do you mean?" Max asked. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him, that he was lying in Post-Op, discussing fashion with Major Winchester.

"Oh, well... you yourself once expressed a preference for women with long tresses, did you not? But now... it would seem that long hair has gone out of fashion, at least for the time being."

Max was initially puzzled, but all of a sudden, he remembered something he'd said... not even so long ago, really.

...'She said she was gonna cut her hair... but I bet she didn't. I bet it's to the middle of her back now. At least... I kinda hope it is. You never saw hair like hers...'

Looking back at the cover, and into the eyes of the defiant and independant young woman, he felt almost as if he were looking at LaVerne. The way the girl crossed her thighs as she stood upright, the way she leaned over so that she was showing more than she should have, it was almost as if she was laughing at him. Mocking him. She was a thousand miles away right now, and she was lying in bed beside someone else. Her legs were forever crossed as far as Max was concerned, but in his mind, he saw her smile, he saw her sitting on the porch.

He saw her as a young teenager, leaning over the table to help him with a math problem, acting as though she was unaware of the changes in her body. He saw her look at him, realize that his eyes were neither on the book or her face, and smile. That was when she kissed him for the first time.

Looking at the girl on the cover, he knew that this girl could never make that sort of innocent expression. She'd lived too much. And so had LaVerne, now. Now she existed only as a reminder of what used to be so good, so perfect, and now was soiled.

Looking at the girl on the cover, Max knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that LaVerne had cut her hair.

And for the first time, instead of tearing up when he thought about her, instead of thinking of ways to get her back or kicking himself for being such a fool, he felt almost glad that he didn't have to be there to see her. To see how she'd changed.

He knew she'd changed. The LaVerne he knew would have never left him. Not for the world.

Obviously, she was no longer the LaVerne he knew.

She was the damned girl on the magazine cover.

And to hell with her.

Charles hadn't said a word, he just looked at Max with a sort of morbid fascination. When Max finally looked up and their eyes met, Charles was taken aback by the almost blithe look on his face.

"Short hair? That's fine. That means I don't have to work at growing mine to stay in style." he said, with surprising cheerfulness.

"I... beg your pardon?"

"Be honest, Major. Could I pull this off?" Max asked, turning the magazine around so that the girl's picture was facing Charles.

"Pull what off?"

"That material, that style?"

"Klinger, didn't you just get through telling me that you were done trying to get out of the army?"

"I did, but... how much sense would that make?" Max asked earnestly. "I mean, if I spend the rest of my life trying to avoid thinking about her, I'd have to move out of the United States. Anyway... there's more to Toledo than her. There's my parents. I haven't seen them in two years. And the rest of my family. My friends... the city itself. It's Toledo I love... it isn't her. Of course I want to get back to it."

"Well... that's... most admirable."

"So, honestly. Yes or no?" Max held the magazine up again.

"No." Charles said immediately.

"What? How come?"

"Klinger, that woman is probably a foot taller than you are." Charles said quickly, then looked around.

"Yeah. I guess yellow washes me out, too. But how about pink?"

Charles didn't say anything, he just shook his head and started to walk away.

Max sighed and turned the page.

* * *


End file.
